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ihlMi— HliWMilll 



S. G. and E. L. ELBERT 

Ctlu'nmt xii 



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Bellevue Hospital Reports, 

Kead very hot ; says he is well ; hirudines No. 
XX ad temp ; emp lyttee to calf of each leg. 

24th, 7 A. M.— Slept part of the night ; 
countenance better ; pulse softer and less 
frequent ; eyes less injected. 

10 A.M. — Gave half cup of arrowroot. 

12 M. — Applied lotio frigida ad caput; is 
snore rational ; tongue cleaner ; great sus- 
ceptibility in the epigastrium on the slightest 

2 P.M. — C C ad epigastrium at f ij, hiru- 
dines xviii temples, camphor poultice to the 
epigastric region. 

7 P. M. — Is better, more quiet, skin hot ; 
pulse continues intermittent ; tongue cleaner, 
but still continues dry ; lotio frigida ad caput^ 
protochlo hyd gr x, pulv antim gr x. 

25th, 7 A. M. — Was quiet, and slept well ; 
pulse more full, less intermittent ; delirium 
greatly diminished ; tongue moister ; oleum 
ricini § i. 

9 A. M. — Half a cup of arrowroot, sweet- 

12 M. — Slept from 9 till this time ; pulse 
less frequent. 

4 P.M. — Tongue moister, pulse more con- 
sistent ; had two stools ; slept two hours. 

6 P. M. — A camphor poultice was applied 
to the abdomen ; arrowroot ; is more quiet 
than usual. 

9 P. M. — Found the patient in a tranquil 

26th, 7 A. M. — He was quiet, and slept 
through the night ; his mind is still confused ; 
nulse better ; tongue moister and less red ; 
sensibility of the abdomen diminished ; coun- 
tenance is brighter ; he asks for food ; cam- 
phor poultice repeated ; arrowroot and milk 
was given. 

12l p. M. — Slept for two hours ; rice, su- 
gar and milk was given. 

6 P.M. — Countenance and tongue improv- 
ed ; slight headache, no delirium ; sensibility 
of abdomen diminished. 

21th, 7 A. M. — Pulse 62, slower and less 
frequent ; tongue the same ; slept part of the 
night ; two stools ; feels hungry ; arrowroot 
boiled with milk, half a cup ; repeat camphor 
poultice ; no headache. 

2 P.M. — Is not so well ; complains of head, 
ache ; pulse increased in frequency and in- 
termittent ; repeat C C ad temples et nuchae 
ad 3ii. 

5 p. M — Took a few spoonfuls of arrow- 
root ; had no stool during the day. 

6 P.M. — Protochloride hyd gr x cum pulv 
antim gr ij. 

28th, 6 A. M.— Slept during the night ; 
pulse slower and less frequent ; asks for food ; 
had a stool during the night ; administered a 
seidlitz powder. 

8 A.M. — Had arrowroot boiled with milk. 

11 AM. — Repeat seidlitz powder. 

4 P.M. — Pulse more frequent ; no evacua- 
tion ; an enema ordered. 

6 P.M.— Had an evacuation : 9 P. M , an 

2dth, 7 tI.M.— Slept well during the night, 

12 M. — Had a little soup for dinner ; one 

30th, 7 ^.M.— Slept well, 

4 P. M. — Is a little feverish ; bowels cos< 
tive : repeat enema. 

31st, 8 A. M. — Is better ; slept well ; had 
two evacuations during the night. 

September 1st. — Improving ; 2 P.M. is not 
so well ; begins to be delirious ; speaks in- 
coherently ; app C C ad nucha ^ iv ; pulse 
full and frequent, 94 ; skin very warm. 

6 P. M.— Administered Protochloride hyd 
gr vjii cum pulv antim gr iv. 

2d, 7 A. M. — Pulse less full and frequent ; 
slept well ; no evacuation ; repeat seidlitz 

2 P.M. — In the same state ; no stool ; re- 
peat seidlitz powder. 

6 P. M. — Has some fever ; pulse full and 
frequent ; repeat protochloride hyd gr iv cum 
pulv antim gr iv. 

3d, 7 AM — Slept part of the night ; pulse 
96, frequent ; tongue moist and clean ; eyes 
slightly injected. 

9 AM. — Administered pulv rhei, gr xv, in 
aqua menth pip § i. 12 M., no stool ; pulse 
intermittent and frequent, 102. 3 P.M., ole- 
um ricini ^ i. 

8 P.M. — No better ; had two stools ; pulse 

4th, 8 A.M. — Slept well ; had three stools ; 
tongue cleaner. 

12 M. — Slept part of the forenoon. 

6 P. M. — Had two stools ; pulse 82 ; no 

5th, 7 A.M. — ^^S-lept well during the night ; 
pulse 72, frequent ; had a stool early this 

6 P.M. — Is a little delirious ; pulse 95, fe* 
verish : administered pulv ipecac comp gr v 
cum pulv opii gr ss, hora somni. 

6th, 7 A. M. — Slept part of the night; no 
delirium; pulse 61, softer and less frequent; 
a wineglass full of bitter infusion was ordered 
morning and evening. 

6 P. M. — Slept part of the day ; pulse 90 J 
no delirium ; repeat pulv ipecac comp gr v, 
cum pulv opii gr ss, hora somni. 

7th, 8 A.M. — Slept part of the night ; pulse 

6 P.M. — Sat up two hours during the day ; 
had four stools ; pulse slower and softer, 66 ; 
repeat pulv ipecac comp gr v, cum pulv opii 
gr ss, hora somni. 

8th, 7 AM. — Slept well ; pulse 79 ; no de- 
lirium ; two stools. 

8 P.M. — Had two stools : repeat pulv ipe- 
cac comp, curlS pulv opii. 

9th, 8 A.M. — Slept well ; had three stools. 

6 P.M. — Had two stools ; pulse slower and 
softer ; administered pulv ipecac comp gr yjji 
cum hyd cum creta gr iv, hora somni, 

10th, 7 A. M. — Remains the same as the 
day before ; continues two glasses of wine 
with bitter infusion daily. 

6 P.AI. — Had three stools ; pulse soft ; ad- 

Bellevue Hospital Reports. 


ministered pulv Doverii gr viii cum opii gr 

11th. — Slept well ; no stool ; pulse soft. 

6 P.iVf.— Had two stools. 

l^th, 7 A M. — Had two stools ; set up part 
of the day. 

6 P.M. — Continues improving. 

l^th. — Is convalescent. 

16iA, 12 M. — Was discharged cured. 

Case 6. Injury of the Knee Joint — 
Patrick Cunningham, admitted August 25 ; 
born in Scotland, aged 35. History : a fort- 
night before he came, he fell on his right 
knee while walking through the ruins in 
Ann street, which had been burnt. He had 
considerable pain immediately after the inju- 
ry, but went to his work the following day : 
did not pay attention to it until the 22d, when 
he was attacked with severe pain : the knee 
was much inflamed and swelled ; directly in 
the median line of the joint was a slight ex- 
coriation : the integuments around it were 
very vascular. Patient is a strong, stout man, 
of plethoric habit, accustomed to stimulants. 

Symptoms. — Pulse full, tongue loaded with 
a thick fur, and trembling. 

Treatment. — ^ Snip mag ^ i cum aqua 
iort 5 iv. Twenty leeches were applied 
around the joint, without benefit ; applied 
C C, and took § xvi of blood ; applied imme- 
diately a poultice : two hours after, the poul- 
tice was removed, the parts washed, and the 
following lotion applied : ^ Goulard's ext. 
tine opii aa 3iiaq font § jii M applied cold. 

26th — Knee joint is better ; pain and swell, 
ing are diminished ; had eight evacuations. 
Repeat lotio saturni cum opii. 

27tk — Swelling is increased; fluctuation 
is distinctly felt in the centre of the knee : 
made an incision longitudinally ; about three 
ounces of pus was discharged. Repeat lotio 
satur. cum opii. 

4 P. M. — Repeat C C ad ^ jii ; anodyne 
haust in evening ; swelling diminished. 

28;tA, S A.M. — Improving; joint less pain< 
ful. j^ Eccop mixture § iv. 

5 P.M. — No stool. ^. Sulp mag ? i hora 

29^A, 8 A, M. — Better; pain and swelling 
diminished ; had six stools during the night, 

SOth, 8 J[.M.-— Improving ; slept well dur- 
ing the night. 

Slst, 7 A. M. — Pain and swelling greatly 
diminished on the external side of the joint ; 
inflammation of an erysipelatous characier 
began to appear : repeat C C ad § x, repeat 
lotio mur ammo cum spts vini et aqua. 

€ P.M.—^. Harts niger f iv. 

September 1st, 7 A. M. — Had six evacua- 
tions during the night ; knee less inflamed. 

5 P.M. — Redness of external part of knee 
is gone. :^ Acet opii gutt xxx aqua ammon 
acetas 3 i, aqua menth pip § ss hora somni. 

2<Z, 8 A.M. — Slept well ; knee improving. 
Ijt. Anod hart, hora somni. 

Vol. II.— No. 18. 

3d, 7 A. M. — Slept well ; bowels costive,- 
]^ Calomelas gr xii, to be taken at 10 o'clock 
A. M., and followed in afternoon by oleum 
ricini ^ i. 

6 P. M. — Had two stools. 1^ Anodyna 
draught, hora somni. 

4:th, 7 A. M — Heat of joint and swelling 
greatly diminished. C C ad f xii. 

^th, 8 A.M. — Improving. 

6th. — Still improving ; move the joint bet- 

1th. — Repeat lotio frigida, repeal anodyne 
haust, hora somni. 

Sth. — Ordered the joint to be rubbed Witlf 
the following ointment : 1^ Ung hyd fort 
S iv. pulv camphor gr xxx, m. 

^th — Continue the same medicine. 

IQth. — Improving ; patient walks about tli^ 

11th — Patient walks as well as before tho 
injury was received. 

Discharged cured. 

Case 7. Typhus Gravior. — Patrick Hag- 
gerty, aged 36, (born in Ireland,) admitted 
August 22d. He had been sick for three 
weeks before admission : could get no account 
of his disease : he was emaciated, countenance 
dull and languid, head large. 

6 P. M. Symptoms. — Lies in a comatose 
state ; answers with difficulty ; eyes half 
closed ; countenance dull and heavy ; tongue 
dry, hard, slightly red at tip and edges, cov- 
ered with a brown fur in the centre ; pulse 
full and strong, 65 in a minute ; abdomen 
soft ; no tenderness of epigastrium upon 
pressure ; skin warm and dry ; lips and teeth 
sordid, lower lip especially ; bowels costive. 

Treatment. — Calomelas cum pulv Doveri, 
aa gr x, a blister on nape of the neck, and on 
the calf of each leg. 

23^, 7 A. .If.— Slept part of the night; 
powder did not move his bowels ; pulse less 
full, but more frequent, 78 ; no alteration of 
countenance ; blisters raised well, and were 
dressed ; did not show any sensibility when 
tho epidermis was removed. 

9 A. M. — An enema was administered, 
which brought away a large quantity of of. 
fensive matter : an ounce of aristol serpent 
was put in a pint of water ; the patient was 
allowed a wine-glass full of this infusion, 
with a drachm of spts mindereri every half 

6 P. M. — Two more stools were obtained ; 
pulse better, less full and strong, 84 in a mi. 
nute ; tongue cleaner, but still dry and hard ; 
countenance improved ; sensibility more 
acute ; skin warm. 

9 P. M. — Found the patient in a deep 

24th, 6 A.M. — Better ; countenance bright- 
er ; slept part of the night ; pulse softer ; skin 
less warm ; tongue begins to be moist at the 
edges : a wine-glass full of snake root every 
hour, with a tea-spoon full of spts mendereri 


Bellevue Hospital Reports, 

head very hot ; says he is well ; hirudines No. 
XX ad temp ; emp lyttee to calf of each leg. 

24a, 7 A. Hf.— Slept part of the night ; 
countenance better ; pulse softer and less 
frequent ; eyes less injected. 

10 A.M. — Gave half cup of arrowroot. 

12 M. — Applied lotio frigida ad caput; is 
snore rational ; tongue cleaner ; great sus- 
ceptibility in the epigastrium on the slightest 

2 P.M. — C C ad epigastrium at f ij, hiru- 
dines xviii temples, camphor poultice to the 
epigastric region. 

7 P. M. — Is better, more quiet, skin hot ; 
pulse continues intermittent ; tongue cleaner, 
but still continues dry ; lotio frigida ad caput^ 
protochlo hyd gr x, pulv antim gr x. 

25th, 7 A. M. — Was quiet, and slept well ; 
pulse more full, less intermittent ; delirium 
greatly diminished ; tongue moister ; oleum 
ricini § i. 

9 A. M. — Half a cup of arrowroot, sweet- 

12 M. — Slept from 9 till this time ; pulse 
less frequent. 

4 P.M. — Tongue moister, pulse more con- 
sistent ; had two stools ; slept two hours. 

6 P. M. — A camphor poultice was applied 
to the abdomen ; arrowroot ; is more quiet 
than usual. 

9 P. M. — Found the patient in a tranquil 

26th, 7 A. M. — He was quiet, and slept 
through the night ; his mind is still confused ; 
nulse better ; tongue moister and less red ; 
sensibility of the abdomen diminished ; coun- 
tenance is brighter ; he asks for food ; cam- 
phor poultice repeated ; arrowroot and milk 
was given. 

12^ P. M. — Slept for two hours ; rice, su- 
gar and milk was given. 

6 P.M. — Countenance and tongue improv- 
ed ; slight headache, no delirium ; sensibility 
of abdomen diminished. 

21th, 7 A. M. — Pulse 62, slower and less 
frequent ; tongue the same ; slept part of the 
night ; two stools ; feels hungry ; arrowroot 
boiled with milk, half a cup ; repeat camphor 
poultice ; no headache. 

2 P.M. — Is not so well ; complains of head, 
ache ; pulse increased in frequency and in- 
termittent ; repeat C C ad temples et nuchae 
ad 3ii. 

5 P.M — Took a few spoonfuls of arrow- 
root ; had no stool during the day. 

6 P.M. — Protochloride hyd gr x cum pulv 
antim gr ij. 

28th, 6 A, M. — Slept during the night ; 
pulse slower and less frequent ; asks for food ; 
had a stool during the night ; administered a 
seidJitz powder. 

8 A.M. — Had arrowroot boiled with milk. 

11 AM. — Repeat seidlitz powder. 

4 P.M. — Pulse more frequent ; no evacua- 
tion ; an enema ordered. 

6 P.M. — Had an evacuation : 9 P. M , an 

2dth, 7 A.M. — Slept well during the night. 

12 M. — Had a little soup for dinner ; one 

30th, 7 ^.M.— Slept well, 

4 P. M. — Is a little feverish ; bowels cos- 
tive : repeat enema. 

Slst, 8 A. M. — Is better ; slept well ; had 
two evacuations during the night. 

September 1st. — Improving ; 2 P.M. is not 
so well ; begins to be delirious ; speaks in- 
coherently ; app C C ad nucha ^ iv ; pulse 
full and frequent, 94 ; skin very warm. 

6 P. M. — Administered Protochloride hyd 
gr vjii cum pulv antim gr iv. 

2d, 7 A. M. — Pulse less full and frequent ; 
slept well ; no evacuation ; repeat seidlitz 

2 P.M. — In the same state ; no stool ; re- 
peat seidlitz powder. 

6 P. M. — Has some fever ; pulse full and 
frequent ; repeat protochloride hyd gr iv cum 
pulv antim gr iv. 

3d, 7 A.M. — Slept part of the night ; pulse 
96, frequent ; tongue moist and clean ; eyes 
slightly injected. 

9 AM. — Administered pulv rhei, gr xv, in 
aqua menth pip § i. 12 M., no stool ; pulse 
intermittent and frequent, 102. 3 P.M., ole- 
um ricini ^ i. 

8 P.M. — No better ; had two stools ; pulse 

4th, 8 A.M. — Slept well ; had three stools ; 
tongue cleaner. 

12 M. — Slept part of the forenoon. 

6 P. M. — Had two stools ; pulse 82 ; no 

5th, 7 A.M. — Sle^t well during the night ; 
pulse 72, frequent ; had a stool early this 

6 P.M. — Is a little delirious ; pulse 95, fe* 
verish : administered pulv ipecac comp gr v 
cum pulv opii gr ss, hora somni. 

6th, 7 A. M. — Slept part of the night; no 
delirium; pulse 61, softer and less frequent; 
a wineglass full of bitter infusion was ordered 
morning and evening. 

6 P. M. — Slept part of the day ; pulse 90 ; 
no delirium ; repeat pulv ipecac comp gr v, 
cum pulv opii gr ss, hora somni. 

7th, 8 A.M. — Slept part of the night ; pulse 

6 P.M. — Sat up two hours during the day ; 
had four stools ; pulse slower and softer, 66 ; 
repeat pulv ipecac comp gr v, cum pulv opii 
gr ss, hora somni. 

8^, 7 AM. — Slept well ; pulse 79 ; no de- 
lirium ; two stools. 

8 P.M. — Had two stools : repeat pulv ipe- 
cac comp, curii pulv opii. 

9^, 8 A.M. — Slept well ; had three stools. 

6 P.M. — Had two stools ; pulse slower and 
softer ; administered pulv ipecac comp gr yjji 
cum hyd cum creta gr iv, hora somni. 

10^, 7 A. M. — Remains the same as the 
day before ; continues two glasses of wine 
with bitter infusion daily. 

6 P.M. — Had three stools; pulse soft; ad- 


Bellevue Hospital Reports, 

Kead very hot ; says he is well ; hirudines No. 
XX ad temp ; emp lyttse to calf of each leg. 

24th, 7 A. M.— Slept part of the night ; 
countenance better ; pulse softer and less 
frequent ; eyes less injected. 

10 A.M. — Gave half cup of arrowroot. 

12 M. — Applied lotio frigida ad caput; is 
more rational ; tongue cleaner ; great sus- 
ceptibility in the epigastrium on the slightest 

2 P.M. — C C ad epigastrium at f ij, hiru- 
dines xviii temples, camphor poultice to the 
epigastric region. 

7 P. M. — Is better, more quiet, skin hot ; 
pulse continues intermittent ; tongue cleaner, 
but still continues dry ; lotio frigida ad caput^ 
protochlo hyd gr x, pulv antim gr x. 

25th, 7 A. M. — Was quiet, and slept well ; 
pulse more full, less intermittent ; delirium 
greatly diminished ; tongue moister ; oleum 
ricini f i. 

9 A. M. — Half a cup of arrowroot, sweet- 

12 M. — Slept from 9 till this time ; pulse 
less frequent. 

4 P.M. — Tongue moister, pulse more con- 
sistent ; had two stools ; slept two hours. 

6 P. M. — A camphor poultice was applied 
to the abdomen ; arrowroot ; is more quiet 
than usual. 

9 P. M. — Found the patient in a tranquil 

26iA, 7 A. M. — He was quiet, and slept 
through the night ; his mind is still confused ; 
pulse better ; tongue moister and less red ; 
sensibility of the abdomen diminished ; coun- 
tenance is brighter ; he asks for food ; cam- 
phor poultice repeated ; arrowroot and railk 
was given. 

12^ P. M. — Slept for two hours ; rice, su- 
gar and milk was given. 

6 P.M. — Countenance and tongue improv- 
ed ; slight headache, no delirium ; sensibility 
of abdomen diminished. 

21th, 7 A. M. — Pulse 62, slower and less 
frequent ; tongue the same ; slept part of the 
night ; two stools ; feels hungry ; arrowroot 
boiled with milk, half a cup ; repeat camphor 
poultice ; no headache. 

2 P.M. — Is not so well ; complains of head, 
ache ; pulse increased in frequency and in- 
termittent ; repeat C C ad temples et nuchas 
ad 3ii. 

5 p. M — Took a few spoonfuls of arrow- 
root ; had no stool during the day. 

6 P.M. — Protochloride hyd gr x cum pulv 
antim gr ij. 

28M, 6 A. M. — Slept during the night ; 
pulse slower and less frequent ; asks for food ; 
had a stool during the night ; administered a 
seidlitz powder. 

8 AM — Had arrowroot boiled with milk. 

11 A.M. — Repeat seidlitz powder. 

4 P.M. — Pulse more frequent ; no evacua- 
tion ; an enema ordered. 

6 P.M. — Had an evacuation t 9 P. M , an 

29fA, 7 tI.M.— Slept well during the night 

12 M. — Had a little soup for dinner ; one 

30fA, 7 ^.M.— Slept well, 

4 P. M. — Is a little feverish ; bowels cos- 
tive : repeat enema. 

31sjf, 8 A. M. — Is better ; slept well ; had 
two evacuations during the night. 

September 1st. — Improving ; 2 P.M. is not 
so well ; begins to be delirious ; speaks in- 
coherently ; app C C ad nucha § iv ; pulse 
full and frequent, 94 ; skin very warm. 

6 P. iVf.— Administered Protochloride hyd 
gr vjii cum pulv antim gr iv. 

2d, 7 A. M. — Pulse less full and frequent ; 
slept well ; no evacuation ; repeat seidlitz 

2 P.M. — In the same state ; no stool ; re- 
peat seidlitz powder. 

6 P. M. — Has some fever ; pulse full and 
frequent ; repeat protochloride hyd gr iv cum 
pulv antim gr iv. 

3d, 7 A.M. — Slept part of the night ; pulse 
96, frequent ; tongue moist and clean ; eyes 
slightly injected. 

9 AM. — Administered pulv rhei, gr xv, in 
aqua menth pip § i. 12 M., no stool ; pulse 
intermittent and frequent, 102. 3 P.M., ole- 
um ricini ^ i. 

8 P.M. — No better ; had two stools ; pulse 

Ath, 8 A.M. — Slept well ; had three stools ; 
tongue cleaner. 

12 M. — Slept part of the forenoon, 

6 P. M. — Had two stools ; pulse 82 ; no 

5th, 7 A.M. — Sle^t well during the night ; 
pulse 72, frequent ; had a stool early this 

6 P.M. — Is a little delirious ; pulse 95, fe* 
verish : administered pulv ipecac comp gr v 
cum pulv opii gr ss, hora somni. 

Gth, 7 A. M. — Slept part of the night; no 
delirium; pulse 61, softer and less frequent; 
a wineglass full of bitter infusion was ordered 
morning and evening. 

6 P. M. — Slept part of the day ; pulse 90 ; 
no delirium ; repeat pulv ipecac comp gr v, 
cum pulv opii gr ss, hora somni. 

7th, 8 A.M. — Slept part of t;he night ; pulse 

6 P.M. — Sat up two hours during the day ; 
had four stools ; pulse slower and softer, 66 ; 
repeat pulv ipecac comp gr v, cum pulv opii 
gr ss, hora somni. 

8th, 7 A.M.— Slept well ; pulse 79 ; no de- 
lirium ; two stools. 

8 P.M. — Had two stools : repeat pulv ipe- 
cac comp, curtt pulv opii. 

9th, 8 A.M. — Slept well ; had three stools. 

6 P.M. — Had two stools ; pulse slower and 
softer ; administered pulv ipecac comp gr vjji 
cum hyd cum creta gr iv, hora somni, 

10th, 7 A. M. — Remains the same as the 
day before ; continues two glasses of wine 
with bitter infusion daily. 

6 P.M. — Had three stools; pulse soft; ad- 

Bellevua Hospital Reports. 


ministered pulv Doverii gr viii cum opii gr 

11th. — Slept well ; no stool ; pulse soft. 

6 P.M. — Had two stook. 

12th, 7 A M. — Had two stools ; set up part 
of the day. 

6 P.M. — Continues injproving. 

l^th. — Is convalescent. 

16iA, 12 M. — Was discharged cured. 

Case 6. Injury of the Knee Joint — 
Patrick Cunningham, admitted August 25 ; 
born in Scotland, aged 35. History : a fort- 
night before he came, he fell on his right 
knee while walking through the rums in 
Ann street, which had been burnt. He had 
considerable pain immediately after the inju- 
ry, but went to his work the following day : 
did not pay attention to it until the 22d, when 
he was attacked with severe pain : the knee 
was much inflamed and swelled ; directly in 
the median line of the joint was a slight ex- 
coriation : the integuments around it were 
very vascular. Patient is a strong, stout man, 
of plethoric habit, accustomed to stimulants. 

Symptoms — Pulse full, tongue loaded with 
a thick fur, and trembling. 

Treatment. — ^. Sulp mag § i cum aqua 
iort 5 iv. Twenty leeches were applied 
around the joint, without benefit ; applied 
C C, and took § xvi of blood ; applied jmme- 
diately a poultice : two hours after, the poul- 
tice was removed, the parts washed, and the 
following lotion applied : T^ Goulard's ext. 
tine opii aa 3 ii aq font § jii M applied cold. 

26^A — Knee joint is better ; pain and swell- 
ing are diminished ; had eight evacuations. 
Repeat lotio saturni cum opii. 

21tk — Swelling is increased; fluctuation 
is distinctly felt in the centre of the knee : 
made an incision longitudinally ; about three 
ounces of pus wa^s discharged. Repeat lotio 
satur. cum opii. 

4 P.M. — Repeat C C ad §jii; anodyne 
haust in evening ; swelling diminished. 

28^A, S A.M, — Improving; joint less pain- 
ful. ^. Eccop mixture § iv. 

5 P.M. — No stool. ]^ Sulp mag ? i hora 

2^th, 8 A. M. — Better; pain and swelling 
"diminished ; had six stools during the night, 

SOth, S A.M. — Improving ; slept well dur- 
ing the night. 

Slst, 7 A. M. — Pain and swelling greatly 
diminished on the external side of the joint ; 
inflammation of an erysipelatous characier 
began to appear : repeat C C ad § x, repeat 
lotio mur ammo cum spts vini et aqua. 

€ P.M.—^^ Harts niger f iv, 

September 1st, 7 A. M. — Had six evacua- 
tions during the night ; knee less inflamed. 

5 P.M. — Redness of external part of knee 
is gone, ^i Acet opii gutt xxx aqua ammon 
acetas 3 i, aqua menth pip § ss hora somni. 

2dt 8 A.M. — Slept well ; knee improving. 
J^ Anod hart, hora somni. 

Vol. II.— No. 18. 

3d, 7 A. M. — Slept well ; bowels costive,- 
]^ Calomelas gr xii, to be taken at 10 o'clock 
A. M., and followed in afternoon by oleum 
ricini ^ i. 

6 P. M. — Had two stools. 1^ Anodyne^ 
draught, hora somni. 

4:th, 7 A. M — Heat of joint and swelling 
greatly diminished. C C ad ^ xii. 

5th, 8 A.M. — Improving. 

6th. — Still improving ; move the joint bet- 

7th. — Repeat lotio frigida, repeat anodyne 
haust, hora somni. 

Sth. — Ordered the joint to be rubbed With 
the following ointment : !^ Ung hyd fort 
S iv. pulv camphor gr xxx, m. 

dth — Continue the same medicine. 

10th. — Improving ; patient walks about tli^ 

11th — Patient walks as well as before tho' 
injury was received. 

Discharged cured. 

Case 7. Typhus Gravior — Patrick Hag- 
gerty, aged 36, (born in Ireland,) admitted 
August 22d. He had been sick f<bx three 
weeks before admission : could get no account 
of his disease : he was emaciated, countenance 
dull and languid, head large. 

6 P. M. Symptoms. — Lies in a comatose 
state ; answers with difficulty ; eyes half 
closed ; countenance dull and heavy ; tongue 
dry, hard, slightly red at tip and edges, cov- 
ered with a brown fur in the centre ; pulse 
full and strong, 65 in a minute ; abdomen 
soft ; no tenderness of epigastrium upon 
pressure ; skin warm and dry ; lips and teeth 
sordid, lower lip especially ; bowels costive. 

Treatment. — Calomelas cum pulv Doveri, 
aa gr x, a blister on nape of the neck, and on 
the calf of each leg. 

23^, 7 A. .If.— Slept part of the night; 
powder did not move his bowels ; pulse less 
full, but more frequent, 78 ; no alteration of 
countenance ; blisters raised well, and were 
dressed ; did not show any sensibility when 
the epidermis was removed. 

9 A. M. — An enema was administered, 
which bro^ight away a large quantity of of. 
fensive matter : an ounce of aristol serpent 
was put in a pint of water ; the patient was 
allowed a wine-glass full of this infusion, 
with a drachm of spts mindereri every half 

6 P. M. — Two more stools were obtained ; 
pulse better, less full and strong, 84 in a mi- 
nute ; tongue cleaner, but still dry and hard ; 
countenance improved ; sensibility more 
acute ; skin warm. 

9 P. M. — Found the patient in a deep 

2Uh, 6 A.M. — Better ; countenance bright- 
er ; slept part of the night ; pulse softer ; skin 
less warm ; tongue begins to be moist at the 
edges : a wine-glass full of snake root every 
hour, with a tea-spoon full of spts mendereri 







©©IPIBilS OF a B (D l" Iff E S Sj 



@«(mS ^biflon, ^omcfc^ anS fgnCargt^ 


B At."ri N/10 RE: 






Emtbrbd. according to tbo Act of Congreos, in. the year eighteen 

hundred and forty-aeven, by Jem if Morpht, in the clerk"* 

office of tUe District Court of Maryland. 

JoBf liCHPBT, 'i yPC3R«.faKR. 

178 Market etrcat, BftlUmors. 

Stereoiyp«l by Wm. H. Horm. 

1_AD(E8 OF B A l-T I rvi O RE, 




HESE lectures were intended as, in some measure, 
a counterpart to th* course I gave the winter before 
tlie last to Young Men. It may naturally be a^•ked 
why tliey were not all confined, as those Lectures 
were, to one class ? The audience in the first case 
was unmixed, but in the second composed of both 
sexes ; and although it was my intention to devote 
the course to the Sphere and 
I thought it equitable to select 
a part of it as would be equally 
interestUig to all. I chose Uierefore for the last three topics 
of a literary and philosophical cast, in which every mind has an 
equal interest, and which I supposed best calculated to improve the 
taste and cultivate the intellect. My only regret, on looking over 
these sheets, is to perceive how imperfectly my limits have permit- 
ted me to present some of the most important views. There is 
scarcely a topic I have treated, wliich might not be expimded into 
a volume. 

The exhaustl(!ss resources which are opening upon society in 
public lectures, is a subject which is worthy of a more minute and 
extended development. This system is destined, I have not the 
least doubt, to work great changes in society. It will demonstrate 
what witli me has ever been a favorite theory, the compatibility of 
daily toil with intellectual cultivation. Bince writing these lectures 
1 have seen a publication called the " Lowell OSering,-' composed 
entirely by the factory girls, which amply corroborates all I hare 
ever thought or said upon this subject. No man can read that 
periodical, and say that daily labor has any tendency to degrade or 
enfeeble the mind, to debase or chill the heart. 

There are some topics which I was obliged altogether to omit, 
the physical education of woman, and her political rights. The 
first of these may be said to belong more especially to the physi- 



cian, and tlie second to the jurist. But they both belong to the 
philanthropist, and are to be discussed rather by appeals to common 
sense, than to the technicalities of science. The substitution of 
machinery for manual labor has superseded a vast amount of 
physical e.xoriion, and exempted Uiousands of women from that 
muscular action which is indispensable to health. The inevitable 
consequence iy a delerioiation of health, and other consequent evils 
of an alarming character. The attention of the community must 
ere long be called to tliis matter. The political rights of women 
have been olten discussed, but generally without either wisdom or 
moderation on either side. That they ought to aspire to the right 
of suffrage, cannot, I think, be maintained, but that better provision 
ought to be made to secure to tiiem their property, I have no doubt 

BAI.TIUORI. May. 1341. 



t^HE first edition of Uiis work having been some 
time out of print, and a second being resolved on, 
the author took the opportunity to add iwo new 
lectures, on the "Preservation or Health," 
and the " Rights or Woman." By the suggestion 
of a few timely thoughts on tbeae subjects, he 

hopes to increase the value and usefulness of a book, which haa 

already met a favorable reception from the public. 

^ CON-TENTS. ^^ 


PAGK jl 


American Literature l"*" ;• 

American Curiosity 22 Jj 

Theatres declining S-l 

L'tility of Lectures 31 

To encourage ihem a duty 37 



Her Intellectual endowments 43 

They fit her for her Sphere 45 

Society necessary for her 50 

Her mission early indicated S3 

The Daughter 55 

The Sister 58 , 

The Wife 62 


Privileges of American women 69. 

Woman elevated by Cliri:-tianity 72 

American women too much indulged 79 

Their disregard of their health 83 

Tendency of women to gossip b6 

Their liability to prejudice 88 

Their fondness for ornament 91 


Marriage generally promotes woman's happiness 98 

Improves her character 102 

Greatly increases her power 106 



The mother 109 

Influence ever her children , IIG 

I JiMuarricd women 1-20 

T he w i (1 ow 1 23 


Education of VVomam 128 

How is woman to be educated 130 

First to domestic duties VSi 

Tlic reasons of this 13B 

Importance of accomplishments 141) 

Music 112 

Advantages of intellectual cultivation 145 

Gives her the power to educate her children 155 


Preservation op health 158 

Causes of ill health 1 62 

Evils of ill health 171 

May become hereditary 1 W) 

Motives to guard against it 1K3 

Means of preserving health 1 H8 


Rights of Woman 190 

Social position of Women 193 

Elevated by Christianity 197 

Licentious literature 2i>2 

Woman has a right to education 205 

Has a right to retain her property 215 

Has a right to just compensation for labor 217 


Moral Uses of Poftry 221 

Poetry the earliest form of Literature , , 225 


The lanjuage of man's better nature 

Patriotism its first expression... 

Its pleasures increased by sympathy 

The love of nature one of its elements 

Poeuy the expositor of man's religious nature. 
The natural expression of devotion..,, ,, 


,. 2-26 



The Moral Natdre op Man 960 

Trutli instinctive 261 

Ifccessary to the existence of society. 265 

The instinct of property 268 

The origin of government 272 

Social purposes of benevolence 277 

Sense of shame 281 

Religion originates in the moral faculties 288 



Legislation a means of moral influence 297 

Forms of government comparatively unimportant 298 

Power of public opinion 3jH 

Formed by Literature 306 

. Immeasurably increased by education 307 

Mission of literary men 313 

Influence of religious institutions .*, 318 


< * » » » 


HE favorable reception of the 
course of lectures, which I 
crave last winter to the vounor 
men of Baltimore, has encour- 
aged me to attempt something 
of a similar nature during the 
approaching season, embrac- 
ing a wider range of topics, 
and addressed to the citizens 
at large. The ultimate object 
of both is the same, the pro- 
motion of the cause of moral, 
intellectual, and literary cul- 
ture. I shall touch in the 
present course on most of the 
social relations, but I shall devote a portion 
of it especially to the sphere and duties 


The success of the lectures of the last winter 
was gratifying to me personally, for I do not 


profess to be above the weaknesses of our 
common nature. But it was gratifying to me for 
higher reasons, as refuting the imputation so 
often thrown upon our city, and so long acqui- 
esced in by ourselves, that no literary enterprise 
could be sustained amonij us. 

In speaking of the literary spirit and institu- 
tions of Baltimore, before any thing is said to 
their disparagement in comparison with those 
of her eastern sisters, it ought to be recollected 
by how many years they are her elders. Long 
after the Puritans had laid the foundations of 
Boston, and at the very outset made the amplest 
provision for literary culture, the sea-bird ranged 
undisturbed alontj the shore where now stands 
our noble city. The ships of an extensive 
commerce had bcijun to lash the waves of the 
Hudson before the waters of our river had been 
disturbed by a single keel. Philadelphia had 
her Franklin and her Rittenhouse, while the 
corn was yet waving on the spot where we are 
now assembled. Literature is the growth of 
time, of wealth and leisure. Without these con- 
ditions it cannot exist, and it is vain and unrea- 
sonable to expect it. But if our city have not 
the culture of age, she has the charm, the 
vivacity, and artlessness of youth. If she have 


not the accomplishments of the mind which 
belonor to older communities, she certainly has 
the attraction of a warm and unsophisticated 
heart. The former will come with the lapse of 
years, and happy will she be if the latter be 
not proportionably destroyed. 

\^Tiat is true of our city when compared with 
her seniors on this continent, is true of our 
whole country when compared with the nations 
of the old world. Our national literature is in 
its infancy. We have no vast libraries where 
profound investigations can be made. We have 
no such race of men as scholars by profession. 
We are essentially a practical people. We are 
too busy in improving our physical condition to 
take much interest in any thing else. So much 
is it so, that no sooner does a man of genius 
appear among us, than he is bought up and set 
to work in the drudgery of politics or commerce, 
or poverty drives him to waste his divine powers 
in some prison-house, grinding out the vile meal 
of every day lite, or to perish in making sport for 
the lords of the Philistines. Poetry, that great 
awakener of the intellect of a people, has 
scarcely appeared amongst us. Though cer- 
tainly a sensitive and imaginative people, our 
native poets have found but little encourage- 


ment. Our comnninity of lano^uaffe with Eno- 
land has probably operated against us in this 
respect. The task of competing with Shakspeare 
and Byron seems too gigantic to afford any hope 
of success. These two bards alone seem to 
despairing genius to have exhausted human 
nature, the common field of imaginative com- 
position, and to have left nothing to be said. 
But it is not so. When the cry was raised 
that the world had grown old, and the human 
mind in these latter days had become exhausted 
and effete, Byron arose and confuted the cn- 
lumny. So it will be here. The human m.ind 
is always equal to itself. Some poet will yet 
arise among us M'orthy to describe our noble 
scenery, and breathing the spirit of our free 
institutions. How many mute inglorious Mil- 
tons have already descended to the tomb we 
do not know, many doubtless who might have 
written their names on the same tablet with 
the most renowned of the old world. But in a 
population of twenty millions, soon to be swelled 
to fifty, renewing itself three times a century, it 
is impossible that the couibination of genius, 
industry, and opj)ortunity, which developes the 
consummate poet, should not at length occur, 
and when he does appear, he will be received 


not to doubtful disputation, but welcomed with 
gratitude, and reverence, and joy. 

We must, we shall have a national literature. 
We already number several of the best writers of 
the English prose, and some of the deepest and 
most philosophical thinkers who have ever used 
our mother tonsfue. Here thouorht stands the 
best chance of bein^ oriofinal. I sometimes 
think that it is not so orreat a disadvantaore that 
our philosophers cannot immure themselves in 
libraries, and bury themselves in books. We see 
man under new aspects, to which the records of 
the past furnish no parallel. We cannot see 
man as he is, through the medium of what he 
has been, even were that medium not as it is, 
misty and obscure. The burning of the Alexan- 
drian library was not so great a loss perhaps as it 
has been sometimes described. All wisdom does 
not lie in the past, and if scholars, instead of 
consuming their lives in learning by what names 
the Greeks and Romans called this and that, 
would go forth into the world and use their own 
eyes, and ears, and understandings, as these very 
men did whose works they study with so much 
reverence, they would be wiser in the end. 

I am not wanting however, I would be under- 
stood, in reverence for the past. But I must 


value it for what it has, and not for what it has 
not. I value antiquity for its facts, but for its 
opinions I cannot entertain any profound re- 
spect. There is a fallacy in the very language, 
when we speak of antiquity as being venerable 
and authoritative because it has the advantacje of 
age and maturity, and therefore likely to have 
arrived at the perfection of wisdom. The very 
opposite is the fact. We are the old age and 
the maturity of the world, rather than the gene- 
rations that have preceded us. The mature man 
does not refer to the opinions of his youth with 
any special reverence, merely because they were 
his opinions. He feels that a wider experience, 
and deeper reflection have compelled him to 
change many of them. Just so it is in the 
progress of the world. The profoundest wisdom 
can come only from the widest induction of par- 
ticulars. It is irrational then to adopt the con- 
clusions of even wiser men than ourselves, who 
lived lonjr afro, when the materials from which 
we may make up an independent judgment are 
multiplied a hundred fold. Plato had a profound 
and a far reaching intellect, improved by much 
observation and deep reflection. But his opin- 
ions on politics are now of very little value, 
because the condition of the world has totally 


changed since his day. Since his times we have 
had the additional experience of many ages. All 
that he could possibly know of that science must 
have been derived from the few small states of 
Greece, and from a little knowledge of Egypt 
and Chaldea. The records of the past, to which 
he had access, were only a few uncertain tradi- 
tions extendinof a few ao^es into the realms of 
barbarism and litter night. What could he know 
of the working of a republican government under 
all possible circumstances, when all that he could 
have learned of it was derived from a few little 
communities which a man miorht travel over in a 
day. The line of his wisdom would extend but 
a little way to sound the deep problems which 
are involved in the operations of a free govern- 
ment, extending over a territory greater than 
were in his times the whole domains of civili- 
zation, penetrated and bound together by 
canals and rail roads, and above all enlightened 
by the emanations of ten thousand printino- 

I cannot believe, if I would, with the ancients, 
that the world is an extended plain, stretching 
out under a sky of infinite extent, because I 
know that it has been circumnavigated. I have 
seen the men who have stood on the opposite 


surface. While I admire the eloquence of 
Cicero, I cannot look into the starry lieavens, 
and believe with him, that the heavenly bodies 
are minute objects set in concentric spheres of 
glass, making a most delicious music as they 
revolve, but to which our ears have unfortunately 
become too much accustomed to be sensible to 
its harmonies. If in the ruins of Pompeii or 
Herculaneum, there should by chance be discov- 
ered a treatise by one of the wisest sages of 
Greece or Rome on commerce and navigation, 
whom can we suppose it would enlighten ? 
AVhat practical man would even read it, when he 
knows that all the science it could contain would 
be derived from the limited ranije of the INIedi- 
terranean, and that he might employ the same 
time to more advantage in tracing the mighty 
progress of trade since the discovery of the 
mariner's compass has thrown open all nations 
and all climes to the enterprise of man ? The 
world then is not growing old in the sense of 
verging to decay. The twilight of the past gene- 
ration is the dawn of a new and brighter day. 
Every new generation commences existence 
under better auspices, for it enters upon the 
world, not only rich in itself, but laden with the 
spoils of all past time. Thousands have thought 


and contrived, millions have labored for what we 
now enjoy. 

Existence now iq any civilized portion of the 
globe is worth far more than it ever was before. 
That naked animal, who once roamed the woods 
in utter destitution, is now bora to a happier and 
more bountiful lot. The young eyes which now 
look on life, what a different prospect do they 
behold from that which those beheld who were 
born three thousand, nay three hundred years 
ago ! Three hundred years ago and what was 
Europe, the most civilized portion of the globe ? 
A family of half civilized nations just emerging 
from barbarism, its kings and queens worse 
lodged and worse fed than the poorest class of 
citizens now in these United States. The power 
to read was so uncommon and so precious that 
it rendered its possessor too valuable to be 
touched for almost any crime. The haughty 
nobles even, were under the necessity of sio-nino- 
their mark in all their legal instruments, as the 
poor Indians now do in making their treaties in 
our western wilds. A community of readers and 
writers was as little dreamed of in those days, as 
a community of angels in the human form. 

The progress of the human race from its cradle 
in the East, has been one triumphal march of 


improvement. What has been achieved in the 
last three thousand years is most strikingly 
exhibited when the circle has come fully round 
the earth, and English science, art and civiliza- 
tion meet and measure strength with Asiatic 
science, art, and civilization as it was when an 
overgrown population and a corrupt religion set 
bounds to all improvement. What an encounter 
is that, when the English man-of-war points its 
thunders against a whole fleet of the clumsy and 
ill contrived shipping of the Celestial Empire ! 
What an encounter would that be, were an Eng- 
lish army with her mortars and battering appa- 
ratus to be drawn up before the walls of Canton, 
defended by an undisciplined multitude, armed 
with matchlocks, and bows and arrows. What- 
ever is England's is ours. Nay, disencumbered 
of her feudal institutions, we have been enabled 
to carry out some of her noblest principles to a 
perfection from which she has been precluded. 
Property is here more equally distributed, and 
education more generally diff'used. The conse- 
quence is, a greater elevation of the popular 

I was most forcibly impressed with the pecu- 
liar character of an American citizen, his intelli- 
gence and distinguishing thirst for knowledge 




above all other people, by an incident Avhich 
took place during a late sojourn at the North. 
I was visiting a large manufacturing establish- 
ment, and one of the workmen was pointed out 
to me as having been sent to Russia to set up a 
cotton mill. My companion engaged him in 
conversation, and made enquiries as to his expe- 
rience in the realms of the Autocrat. Amonor 
other things, he asked him why he did not stay 
there, as he received a large salary, and was the 
head of the establishment. How could he aban- 
don so eligible a situation, and come back to be 
a subordinate at home, with a comparatively 
small compensation. "Well," said he, ''I did not 
like it; I had nobody to speak to, and besides, I 
could not get my newspapers." There spoke 
the American. He had rather forego wealth and 
station than his newspapers. And with such a 
nation of readers can we be lono- without a 
national literature ? It is utterly impossible. At 
Athens eloquence reached the greatest perfec- 
tion that it has ever attained in the world, 
because Athens was the freest and most intelli- 
gent community of all antiquity. All classes 
listened to the public harangues, and the most 
eloquent was the most powerful man in the 
state. The very fish women were critics of a 



classical pronunciation. Tlie same causes ope- 
rate here in ten-fold intensity, to produce the 
most perfect literature that has ever existed, — 
ten millions of intelligent readers, ready to 
bestow applause, and power, and wealth on him 
who will most thoroughly enlighten their under- 
standings, and most deeply move their hearts. 
Some of the speeches of ]\Ir. Webster were 
perused by more eyes, and thrilled more hearts 
within three weeks of their delivery, than any 
of the orations of Cicero in three centuries from 
their publication, though they had the whole 
range of the Roman empire. And I will add, 
that nothing he ever wrote was more worthy to 
be transmitted to the latest posterity than some 
of the productions of our most distinguished 
orator, advocate, jurist, and statesman. 

What is the augury of the phenomenon which 
is here exhibited this evening, and which is seen 
in every lecture room in this country ? What 
means the fact that the theatres are almost 
forsaken, and beauty and fashion, the man of 
business, and the man of pleasure, are seen to 
throng the halls of scientific and literary enter- 
tainment? There they patiently listen to what 
would once have been called a dry lecture, the 
very name of which would have filled them with 


unutterable discrust. What is it but the evidence 
of the onward progress of man and of the age ? 
Theatres seem to have had their day. They 
appear to be falhng into hopeless neglect. But 
they have not been written down, nor preached 
down. They could not have been. The taste 
for them is outtrrown. Bad as some things are 
about them, I have no doubt that they have, 
providentially played their part in the progressive 
civilization of the world. In the age of Shaks- 
peare they long struggled with, and finally 
superseded the coarser and brutalizing sports of 
bull fiirhtinij and bear baitinof. Was not this an 
improvement, I would ask those who most 
severely censure the theatre, and call it, as it too 
often is, the vestibule of perdition, was it not a 
gain to collect the crowd which gathered around 
two fierce animals goring each other to death, or 
a brace of dogs tearing in pieces their chained 
and imprijioned victim, there to become excited 
themselves to blows and blasphemy, — was it no 
ffain to brinor them within the walls of a theatre, 
to be subjected at least to the first lessons of 
order and decorum, to listen to some of the sub- 
limest flights of human eloquence, instead of the 
growls and bellowings of the ring? It is in vain 
to expect mankind to step at one stride from 



barbarism to refinement, from heathen debase- 
ment to Christian morality. All the intermediate 
stages must be passed through, each better than 
the last, but defective when compared with that 
which succeeds. The rude sports of the bear 
ffarden were moral and moral izinof when com- 
pared with the horrible spectacles of the Roman 
Amphitheatre, where human beings instead of 
wild beasts were made to butcher each other for 
the amusement of the populace. When we 
complain, and justly complain of the theatre as 
falling so far below the standard of morality 
exhibited by Christianity, we ought to recollect 
that it has succeeded such scenes as that so 
admirably described by a modern poet. 

*' I see before me the Gladiator lie : — 
He leans upon his hand — his manly brow 
Consents to death, but conquers agony, 
And his droop'd head sinks gradually low — 
And through his side the last drops, ebbing slow 
From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one. 
Like the first of a thunder-shower; and now 
The arena swims around him— he is gone, 
Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hail'd the 
wretch who won. 
He heard it, but he heeded not — his eyes 
Were with his heart, and that was far away. 



He reckM not of the life he lost, nor prize. 
But where his rude hut by the Danube lay. 
There were his young barbarians all at play, 
lliere was their Dacian mother — he, their sire, 
Butcher'd to make a Roman holiday — 
All this rush'd with his blood — Shall he expire 
And unavenged? — Arise ! ye Goths, and glut your ire! '' 

The stage then, though comparatively an evil, 
and perhaps at this period of the world abso- 
lutelv so, has been comparatively a good. It has 
contributed to intellectualize if not to moralize 
mankind. Such a mind as that of Shakspeare 
does not fall without the icircle of Divine Provi- 
dence. Such a fervid genius as his, showing up 
man to himself, has not failed to kindle thought 
in others, and to unlock secrets in the hearts of 
the unreflecting, which otherwise would have 
remained for ever undisclosed. 

There are at the present period strong indica- 
tions that either the taste, or the moral sense of 
the acre, is leavinof the theatre behind. The 
mind in its progress from childhood to maturity 
ceases to seek for mere amusement, and asks to 
be instructed as well as entertained. As the 
mature man, who once delighted in toys and 
tales of the marvellous, forsakes the nursery and 
the play ground to find more solid satisfaction in 


the serious business of life, in the halls of leofisla- 
tion, or the marts of commerce, so the time will 
at length come, nay, we believe it has come 
already, when mankind putting away childish 
things will find their highest pleasure in the 
pursuit of knowledge ; they will forsake the 
gaudy shows of the theatre for the higher plea- 
sures of the intellect. As they become more and 
more intellectual beings, so will they take more 
and more delicrht in intellectual and moral 
pleasures, in exercising and strengthening the 
powers of the mind, in exploring the inexhausti- 
ble wonders of the universe, the great laws of 
physical science, the phenomena of the starry 
heavens, the productions and appearances of the 
different continents and climates of the earth, 
the habits and the instincts of animals, the struc- 
ture and composition of our globe, the physical, 
intellectual, and moral constitution of man, the 
nature and fundamental laws of civil society, the 
history of our race, the evidences of its progres- 
sive civilization, the fortunes and achievements 
of the most famous and conspicuous of our 
species. All these things are capable of being 
made the subjects of popular lectures of the 
most interesting nature. And sooner or later, 
I have no doubt, that they will awaken the 


curiosity and engage the intellectual activity of 
mankind. Education will no lonorer be consid- 
ered as terminating with youth, when the mental 
powers are still green and undeveloped, but will 
be continued as long as curiosity retains its thirst 
for knowledge, and memory retains the power 
of treasuring it up in the mind. Almost every 
subject of science, and of art, of literature and 
taste, may in this way, by the endless diversity 
of powers and pursuits of those who devote 
themselves to letters, be brought before the 
public and made to minister a high gratification, 
while they increase the general stock of informa- 
tion. The materials from which such lectures 
may be drawn, allowing nothing to the lecturer 
but the power of selection and combination, 
are absolutely inexhaustible. The scholar even, 
whose days and nights are devoted to study, is 
overwhelmed by the exuberant stores which have 
been poured into the common treasury of science 
and literature within the last seventy years. 
With the increase of wealth and physical re- 
sources which has been every where ofoinof on, 
there has been a vast accession to the number of 
the laborers in the walks of literature and 
science. Intellectual activity has been immea- 
surably increased. The civilized world has re- 


sembled a hive of bees. Some have remained at 
home building the repositories, arranging in 
order and for use the results of the labors of 
others. Another portion have spread themselves 
abroad over the whole surface of the earth, from 
the burning sands of the torrid zone, to the 
eternal ice of either pole, and scarce any thing 
has escaped their investigation. 

What remains, but that the labors of the few 
be made the common property of all ? To what 
purpose is it, that this vast amount of information 
is spread out upon the dumb pages of a book, 
and laid up in the alcoves of libraries, while the 
great mass of the people are ignorant even of its 
existence ? Let it have a voice, and come forth, 
and be communicated to the people, where 
alone it can accomplish an object worthy of the 
zeal and disinterestedness of those noble spirits, 
who have devoted themselves to the cause of 
science and letters. 

It is with this purpose that I have stepped 
aside from the common routine of my profession, 
and undertaken the task of addressing my fellow 
citizens on the more general subjects of Moral, 
Intellectual, and Literary Culture. There is, I 
am persuaded, in this and every community, a 
vast field of mind which lies barren for the 


simple reason that it lies untilled. There is a 
vast amount of time which passes away unim- 
proved, simply for the want of excitement and 
opportunity. There is a vast deal of our social 
existence wasted on trifles, because we have 
neglected to store our minds with solid know- 
ledge. The power of thinking, I regret to say it, - 
the noblest of all the powers conferred on man, 
is the very one which he is most apt to wrap up 
in a napkin and bury in the earth. Extensive 
knowledge, accurate thought, and eloquent ex- 
pression, how much they are praised, how much 
they are admired, what power do they confer of. 
ministering pleasure to others ! But it seems to 
be taken for granted that they are original gifts, 
and not the fruit of careful training and cultiva- 
tion. Nothing can be more mistaken. They 
are in a degree within the reach of all. 

These powers I believe public lectures to be 
eminently calculated to cultivate and call forth. 
There is somethinor in the livinor voice, which 
awakens attention more than silent reading can 
do, which calls up more vigorously the intellec- 
tual faculties, and produces a more lasting im- 
pression upon the memory. The excitement of 
the occasion and of sympathy, clothes a subject 
with a greater importance than when contem- 


plated in silence and in solitude. The subject 
thus introduced abides longer in the mind, it 
becomes a topic of conversation and discussion. 
If it has been treated with any degree of ability, 
those who have listened understand it better 
than they did before. They feel more curiosity 
to hear each other's opinions. They of course 
can discuss it with orreater clearness and satisfac- 
tion. When they read any thing relating to the 
same subject, it has for them new interest, and 
they will probably be induced to procure the 
books which will give them a more complete and 
thorough knowledge of it. Now such investiga- 
tions, when the curiosity is once roused, become 
the source of intense immediate frr^itification as 
well as permanent improvement. They give a 
pleasing play to the faculties, for nothing is 
sweeter to the soul than the acquisition of 
knowledge, the discovery of truth, the conscious- 
ness that it has a clearer and more satisfactory 
view of any subject than it once had. It feels 
ennobled, elevated in the scale of intellectual 
beings, and deems existence itself to be worth 
more than it was before. 

Public lectures, moreover, may be defended 
on a much lower principle of interest and expe- 
diency, on the principle so well known in 


Political Economy under the name of the divi- 
sion of labor. It is much more easy to receive 
knowledge through the ear than through the 
eve. It is much more easy for many to listen 
while one discourses than for each to read the 
same amount for himself. It is certainly less 
labor for one to investigate, select, and condense 
for the benefit of a multitude, than for each one 
to go over the same ground. There is no way 
in which mind can be so easily cultivated, and 
knowledge propagated so fast. 

If mind be the great distinction of man over 
the lower orders of animals with which he 
inhabits the earth, so the cultivation of the mind 
must be the main superiority of one human being 
over another. The cultivation of the mind is 
an inexhaustible source of happiness. To the 
pleasures of thought and meditation there is 
absolutely no end. It refines and renders more 
intense, safe, and enduring the innocent plea- 
sures of the senses. It frees the soul from one 
of its chief dangers, that of dependence upon 
coarse and animal gratifications. The cultivated 
mind can never feel the burden of solitude, nor 
can it be overwhelmed in a crowd. Amoncr the 
multitude, its powers of observation, disciplined 
by careful training, find the very object they most 



delight to contemplate, human nature in its infi- 
nite developments, — and the naturalist cannot 
feel more delight among glittering diamonds and 
precious stones. It reads with rapid glance, and 
curiosity never sated, the great volume of man- 
kind. If it leaves the haunts of man, and go 
where no foot hath trod, it is not alone. Nature 
herself is to it an Infinite Presence. The culti- 
vated mind, prepared for such communings, 
finds in a higher consciousness, the intensest 
pleasures of our being. Nay, let the day with- 
draw her shining, let darkness hide every object 
from the sight, and wrap the earth in the pro- 
foundest gloom, let every eye be closed and 
animated nature sleep as it were in one universal 
grave, to the cultivated mind the waking hour 
has no terrors, it knows no sadness, the deepest 
midnight is the hour of the most exalted medita- 
tion. Time and space are almost annihilated, 
the j)ast is present, the distant is brought near, 
and the soul, freed from every tie, seems even 
now an inhabitant of eternity and immensity. It 
feels with the poet that, 

" Night is the lime to think,— 

When from the eye the soul 
Takes flight, and on the utmost brink 

Of yonder starry pole, 



Discerns beyond the abyss of night 
The dawn of uncreated light." 

It is by the constant accession of cultivated 
minds that society is gradually to improve, and 
its pleasures to be augmented. There is no 
companionship like that which is created by 
wisdom and knowledge. In that delightful in- 
tercourse, hours are but as minutes, days fly like 
hours away. These pleasures are in a measure 
open to all. Once mankind were bound down 
to toil. Their whole energies were exhausted in 
supplving their commonest wants. Now they 
have pressed into their service the great agencies 
of nature, fire, and water, and air, and while 
they are accomplishing their appointed tasks, 
men may resort to the halls of science, and the 
galleries of art, the lecture rooms of philosophy 
and literature. In our republic in short, the 
grove of Academus is to be revived, and there 
will be seen walking in it, not a few philoso- 
phers alone, but the whole mass of the people. 

Permit me, ladies and gentlemen, to congratu- 
late vou on the siirns we see multiplvinor around 
US of the rise and progress of a literary spirit in 
our city. It gave me the sincerest pleasure to 
hear that another course of lectures was to be 



commenced for this season, enlisting so much 
and such a variety of talent, learning and taste. 
To that enterprise I shall gladly contribute, if 
the one in which I myself have engaged does not 
promise to consume all the time I can with 
propriety divert from the duties of an arduous 
profession. We, who have embarked in these 
experiments, call upon all good men and true to 
come to our aid. There is nothing more wanted 
to give an impulse to the onward progress of our 
city than a higher literary and scientific culture, 
than institutions of a public character, which 
shall bring the mind and talent of the community 
into closer contact and warmer sympathy, and 
thus enable them to act with greater power and 
efficiency on the mass. We have a climate 
unsurpassed in the world, and a position second 
to few on the continent. There must grow up 
here a large and splendid city. Let it not be a 
vast, barbarian. unii;telli<rent bodv, but animated 
by a great, a noble, a cultivated soul. 

We call upon the ministers of religion. Every 
thing which spreads abroad light and intelli- 
gence is congenial with their great purpose of 
enli^rhteninof and reformin^j the world. Christ- 
ianity, kept back from mankind through four 
thousand years of barbarism, was reserved for the 



faliiess of time, when the world should have 
become sufficiently cultivated to receive and 
perpetuate a spiritual religion ; and every thing 
now which developes the intellect, and makes 
man a beinof of thouofht and reflection, instead 
of a creature of the senses, prepares him more 
thoroughly to comprehend, and more deeply 
to be affected by those divine words which are 
spirit and life. 

We call upon the patriot to aid us, the 
patriot who must be more and more convinced 
by the experience of every year, that the fate 
of our republic is entirely involved in thci 
problem, whether a people spread over so vast 
an extent of territory, increasing with unexam- 
pled rapidity, and receiving into its bosom 
each year nearly a hundred thousand of foreign 
ingredients, can be made and kept sufficiently 
intelliofent to orovern themselves and secure 
their own happiness. We ask him to reflect 
on the melancholy spectacle of a great nation, 
overflowing with wealth, with physical comfort 
and every natural resource, but without taste, 
without literature, without refinement, degraded 
by ignorance, and engulfed in the pleasures 
of the senses. We ask them if the delusion 
is never to be dispelled, that life is to be 


spent in dull drudgery to acquire the means 
of living, without the least reflection how those 
means are to be used in procuring the greatest 
possible enjoyment ? W^ ask him if there is 
to be but one pursuit over the length and 
breadth of this land, absorbing and subordi- 
nating to itself every other, the pursuit of 
wealth, which, when accumulated, can be 
enjoyed only in precise proportion to the 
enlargement of the mind, and the cultivation 
of the taste? 

We invoke the aid and encouras^ement of 
parents, who are connected with the future by 
bright hopes, as well as with the past by tender 
recollections. While you gaze with unutterable 
love upon your rising offspring, and realize 
whose blood runs in their veins, whose name 
they are to inherit, does there arise no solicitude 
in your breasts how they shall bear their part in 
the great line of existence, what standing they 
shall assume among men of sense and education, 
how they may be inspired with high aims and 
noble purposes, how secured from low pursuits 
and vicious indulgences ? Be assured that next 
to true religion there is no other guaranty so 
certain for their safety, their prosperity, their 
honorable career through life, as an early and 


decided taste for moral, intellectual, and literary 
culture. In this young, free, and enterprising 
country, where change is written so legibly on 
all thinofs, nothinor can be more chimerical than 
the hope of transmitting family distinction sus- 
tained only by wealth. The genius of our insti- 
tutions is altogether ao^ainst it. No where has 
Mind obtained a supremacy so entire. Wealth 
may here be an accessory, and a comfortable 
appendage to greatness, but the estimation of 
humanity is too high among us to make a man a 
mere appendage to his possessions. 

Finally we appeal to woman, in whose heart 
every enterprise for human good is sure to find 
a warm and a powerful advocate. When we tell 
her that the cause in which we are enorao-ed, is 
the endeavor to elevate and refine our species, 
she recognises it as the cause in which she has 
ever been engaged since the beginning of time. 
When we describe to her a state of higher 
mental and moral culture, and of course accom- 
panying it a greater refinement of manners and 
correctness of deportment, she welcomes the 
prospect as a state of things where her gentle 
virtues will be best appreciated, and the sphere 
in which she moves be most replete with honor, 
happiness, and contentment. We do not flatter 


her when we remind her how much influence 
she has in forming the taste and directing the 
pursuits of the other sex, how far the hope of 
her favor determines the aspirations and the 
efforts of those who are forming characters for 
life. She needs not be assured, that it is for her 
own sake that we invite her into the pleasant 
walks of letters, that there is nothing more con- 
genial with her retired and quiet occupations, 
no better solace for her solitary hours, no better 
resource against ennui and depression, nothing 
which so prepares her to adorn and enjoy 
society, nothing, excdPrpiety, which can so arm 
her against those troubles which are the lot 
of all. 

Let her know that there is nothinor which 
rules by diviner right than woman, and there 
is nothing to which the human heart more 
involuntarily bows down than to woman when 
she adds to the natural charms and loveliness 
of her sex, the crowning glory of a vi^^orous, 
a refined, and cultivated intellect. 




HAVE promised to devote 
a portion of this course of 
lectures to the Sphere axd 
Duties of Woman. Medita- 
tion upon the subject, while it 
has more and more opened to 
me its magnitude and import- 
ance, has more and more con- 
vinced me of the difficulty of 
treating it with profit to you, 
or credit to myself. While I 
addressed my own sex, T felt 
at home and at ease. As all I 
said was drawn from my own 
experience and observation, I 
knew my ground and felt sure at every step. I 
felt that what I said could not be mistaken or 
misjudged. I could not be suspected even of 
being any other than just and fair. I am now to 
address the other sex, a task which I had much 


rather had fallen to one of themselves. The 
very circumstances of the case render it impos- 
sible for me to be as well acquainted with my 
subject as I was before. I cannot even in 
imagination put myself in the position of the 
opposite half of the species, and though I may 
form a judgment of what their conduct should 
be, I cannot comprehend the difficulties of their 
situation, nor fully appreciate their merit when 
they fill up the measure of my conceptions of 
right and duty, nor their culpability when they 
fall below it. 

What I hope to do is this, to lead those who 
listen to me to serious reflection, to give them a 
more thorough knowledge of their constitution, 
faculties, aptitudes, a clearer conception of their 
relative position, and the duties which grow out 
of it, those dispositions and habits which it is 
incumbent on them to cherish, the studi2s they 
are to pursue, the accomplishments they are to 
acquire, in short how they are to demean them- 
selves in the successive relations of daughter, 
sister, wife, mother, friend, neighbor, Christian, 
the heir of immortality. To produce a systematic 
treatise on the Sphere and Duties of Woman is 
not my purpose. I have neither the leisure nor 
the ability to do it. All that I can hope to do is 


to drop here and there a hint, which will awaken 
thought and reflection, which ripened by time 
and confirmed by experience, will mature into 
true and solid wisdom. 

The question has been raised, and often dis- 
cussed, whether the original intellectual endow- 
ments of woman are as great, or rather the same 
as those of man. Both sides of the arofument 
have been defended with equal zeal and perti- 
nacity. It is a question however which never 
can be settled, and which it is unimportant to 
decide one way or the other. It is a question to 
which the human powers are inadequate. All 
souls come from God and are made for immor- 
tality. The distinction of the sexes is intended 
for this world alone, a point only in the infinite 
line of the soul's existence. It does not seem 
probable that the Deity would make a diflference 
in favor of one half of his rational creation, and 
to the disadvantage of the other, which should be 
radical and essential, for the sake of a relation 
that is to endure but for a short season. It is 
certain, however, that the manifestations of mind 
depend much on physical organization, and still 
more on education. The difference of oro-aniza-i 
tion we know to be very great, particularly in the 
ner\'ous system, which is the very seat of the 


mind. Education contributes even more to this 
difference. Habits of life seem to have the 
power of overcoming even the disparity of physi- 
cal ororanization. In some acres and countries 
the labors which are appropriate to men have 
been imposed by their tyranny upon the weaker 
sex, and what a difference does it immediately 
produce ! What a contrast between the delicate 
daughter of a city and the wife of a peasant, who 
shares with him in the labors of the field. The 
same hand, which in the gilded saloon touches 
the musical instrument with so much grace, 

" In notes, with many a winding bout 
Of linked sweetness long drawn out. 
Untwisting all the charms which tie 
The hidden soul of harmony ;" 

if condemned to handle the axe and spade would 
have been a very different thing. Those arms, 
which scarcely seem made for use, had they been 
destined to gather in their grasp the sheaves of 
autumn instead of sustaining some delicate piece 
of embroidery, would certainly have shown a 
very different development and proportion. The 
sylph-like form would soon disappear among the 
labors of the field. Who can tell then, how far 
the alleged inferiority of intellectual power would 


disappear were both sexes subjected to the 
same training, if the power of observation were 
as early called forth, if instead of being shut up 
in the house and her attention confined to a few 
objects, woman were permitted to roam abroad 
and have as free a range and as great excite- 
ments as are ministered to the other sex, if on 
her devolved the great concerns of politics, 
government, and business ? When driven by 
necessity to these occupations she generally 
discovers a great degree of sagacity, and a power 
of improvement truly astonishing. 

But whatever may be the original equality of 
the sexes in intellect and capacity, it is evident 
that it was intended by God that they should 
move in different spheres, and of course that 
their powers should be developed in different 
directions. They are created not to be alike but 
to be different. The Bible with a noble simpli- 
city expresses in few words all that can be said 
upon this subject. " God created man in his 
own image, in the image of God created he him, 
male and female created he them." As much 
as if the lawgivej of the Jews had said ; " Perfect 
humanity is made up of both the sexes. One is 
not complete without the other." They are 
therefore counterparts of each other. They must 


be different, and in many respects the opposites 
of each other, to fill their different spheres. This 
difference runs through the whole of their physi- 
cal, moral, and intellectual constitution. This 
radical and universal difference points out dis- 
tinctly a different sphere of action and duty. 
The God who made them knew the sphere in 
which each of them was designed to act, and he 
fitted them for it by their physical frames, by 
their intellectual susceptibilities, by their tastes 
and affections. The sphere of neither compre- 
hends the whole scene of this life, but they are 
like the halves of a circle, imperfect when alone, 
but when united forming a beautiful whole, and 
coverinsr the whole surface of human life. The 
common lot of labor and care is ordained for 
them both. The share of each is plainly pointed 
out in their respective constitutions. To the 
more robust constitution of man are appointed 
the labors and dangers of the chase, the toils of 
the field, the perils of the ocean. There is to 
correspond to that robuster form, a corres- 
ponding energy, enterprise, and courage. To 
woman the care of home, the preparation of 
food, the making of clothing, the nursing and 
education of children. To her is given in larger 
measure sensibility, tenderness, patience. And 


the instinctive taste and discrimination of each 
sex is the best criterion of wliat the other ought 
to be. What are those quahties which irresist- 
ibly captivate the heart of woman ? Those pre- 
cisely in which she is excelled by man. She 
feels herself weak and timid. She needs a 
protector. Strength and courage are therefore 
indispensable requisites in the other sex. She 
is in a measure dependent. She asks for 
wisdom, constancy, firmness, perseverance, and 
she is willing to repay it all by the surrender of 
the full treasure of her affections. Woman 
despises in man every thing like herself except a 
tender heart. It is enouijh that she is effeminate 
and weak ; she does not want another like her- 
self Just so with man. Any approach to his 
own peculiar characteristics in the opposite sex 
is odious and disgusting. He is subdued not by 
strength but by tenderness, not by boldness but 
by reserve. These instincts are the unerring 
guide of what both man and woman ought to be. 
In each others' hearts therefore are inscribed, as 
in a tablet, the laws which should govern their 
respective conduct ; they are the mirror in 
which they should behold the perfection to 
which they are to aspire. They are thus formed 
by opposition and correspondence of tastes to 


take a higher delight in each other's society than 
they can do in that of their own sex. They are 
thus made indispensable to each other's happi- 
ness in every way. Were all women, they 
would be miserable indeed ; and were all men, 
they would be no less so. Not only does their 
mutual society minister to their happiness, but 
likewise to their moral improvement, for they are 
born with a mutual desire to please each other. 
This is a fact, which I have never seen no- 
ticed by any writer on the moral constitution of 
man, the instinctive reverence which the two 
sexes have for each other above and beyond that 
which they cherish for their own. It is a sort of 
human religion. The human soul, made after 
the similitude of God, has ever a sort of Divinity 
about it. The presence of one of our own sex 
is a quickener of the conscience, is a moral 
restraint, and is so far a perpetual discipline to 
the conduct. But with this reverence there is 
toward the other sex an instinctive desire to 
please. Here then is a two-fold power. No 
man ever felt in the presence of a man the same 
awe and restraint that he feels in the presence of 
a woman ; and no woman is ever so much put 
on her good behaviour before one of her own 
sex as she is in the presence of a man. Here 


then is an immense moral influence which the 
sexes are perpetually exerting upon each other, 
and in the aggregate its effects must be beyond 
all estimate. Nothing can be wiser then, than 
that arrangement of society, which God has 
established, where the sexes associate freely 
together. Hence also the deterioration and 
corruption of every form of society which 
separates either into a community by them- 

And here let me say a word to those parents 
who, from a dread of the evils of society, imagine 
that their daughters will be more safe from being 
kept in entire seclusion, that their sentiments will 
be more correct, and their judgments more 
unperverted. Nothing can be more mistaken. 
No part of education is more important to the 
youth of the more secluded sex than the society 
of the other of her own age. It is by this asso- 
ciation alone that she acquires that insight into 
character, which is almost her only defence. 
For this perception of character she has a 
greater aptitude than the other sex. It seems to 
be provided to compensate her for her want of 
opportunity to mingle largely with the world. 
She is wronged instead of benefited then, by 
being shut up' from society at that period of 



life when her peculiar talent may be most 
advantageously cultivated. Who is the best 
merchant? He who has the best knowledge 


of the particular merchandize in which he 
deals. There is no way to become a merchant 
except by perpetual examination and compari- 
son of the things to be bought and sold. 
Theoretical knowledge may do some good, 
reading may serve to prepare the mind to 
observe, but there is no substitute for expe- 
rience. Just so, if man or woman would 
know the world, I mean in the sense of 
becoming truly wise, not cunning, and calcu- 
lating, and selfish, there is no other way but 
to minfjle with the world. And no beinor is 
more utterly helpless than a woman thrown 
into the world without any knowledge of it. 
Without this she is in perpetual danger of 
becoming the victim of her susceptible ima- 
gination, and her generous impulses. There 
is quite as much danger therefore in secluding 
young women from society, as in permitting 
them to become absorbed in it, and lost to 
every thing else. 

Besides the knowledge which is acquired by 
the early association of the sexes, the mutual 
reverence and desire to please, which is 


implanted in the bosom of each, becomes the 
school of discipline for the moral sentiments of 
both. The strong desire to appear in the eyes 
of the other sex all that their common moral 
sentiments demand in order to be an object of 
esteem, renders it impossible that they should 
not desire to be in reality all that they would 
wish to appear. They are likely to come to the 
conclusion that hypocrisy costs more than actual 
goodness, and so are constrained to strive after 
that perfection which alone can come up to the 
ideal they see mirrored in the moral nature of 
those they most wish to please. 

There is moreover a sentiment of the sexes 
towards each other, independent of the marriage 
tie, common to those who enter into it and those 
who never do, which perhaps cannot be defined 
or described in words, but which constitutes the 
greatest charm of this life. It imparts a roseate 
flush to the otherwise pale and sickly hue of this 
world. It gives a zest to what would otherwise 
be tasteless. The value we set upon things 
cannot be weighed in balances, nor told by 
measure, nor reckoned in money. The senti- 
ments of the human heart know nothing of 
price. They are infinite and immeasurable. 
They spurn all calculation, for they are bound- 


less and unfathomable. And do what you 
will, the sentiments are man's supreme law. 
To man the world and all there is in it is 
valuable, is beautiftil, is worth living for, only 
because it is enriched by the presence of 
woman; and to woman this world would be 

I j 

1 1 utterly tasteless did she not share the dignity, 
the enterprise, the intrinsic nobleness that she 
conceives to reside in man. 

Sentiment is omnipotent in the human heart. 
What is the spring and motive of all enterprise 
in the heart of man ? What sends his ships into 
every sea, his commerce into all lands? What 
clears the forest, and raises the comfortable 
home, or builds the lofty palace ? Enter into the 
secret chambers of his imagery and you w'ill find 
the Divinity, upon whose altars all this is to be 
offered up, is woman. Unshared by her all 
would be vain and profitless. And why do we 
see woman from the first so careful of her per- 
son, so studious of ornament, so diligent to 
make up by untiring industry her want of 
strength to help forward tlie more diflScult labors 
in which man engages ? Search the recesses of 
her consciousness, and you would find the ever 
present idea, that she was made to be the help- 
mate, tho delight, and the comforter of man. 


These sentiments are divine, sacred, unchange- 
able. Nothincr, even the most false and vicious 
state of society, can altogether pervert them. 

The mission of woman is foreshown almost in 
the cradle ; and it is a mission of humanity, 
gentleness, tenderness, generosity, love. Mark 
a family just after the birth of a daughter. An 
infant comes always with a blessed message from 
God to the human heart. It is a reiteration of 
the old but ever new commandment, " love one 
another." It is a summons to duty, to disinte- 
restedness, to kindness, to self denial ; and it 
secures obedience by an appeal more powerful 
than any that can be made to the cold region of 
the understanding. It opens the heart, — the 
fountain and well spring of duty. Most espe- 
cially is this the case, if the new born heir of 
human destiny add to its own helplessness the 
claim of belonging to that sex, which through 
life demands the protection of the other. Even 
the little epithets of endearment, which are the 
natural expressions of the gushings of parental 
affection, have a shade of tenderness towards a 
daughter which is not bestowed upon an infant 
of the rougher sex. This arises not so much 
from any material difference in their present 
condition as from the anticipations of the future. 


The boy, though now weak and wailing, will 
soon develope the strength, the resources, the 
courage of a man, and be able to buffet his way 
through this rude world* But the daughter, how 
little control is she to have over her destiny ! 
How entirely is her happiness to be placed in 
the power of others, of those with whom Provi- 
dence shall cast her lot ! Added to this is the 
feeling that in tlie heart of the daughter they 
have a richer treasure than they can possess any 
where else. All things they feel are uncertain, 
but the love of a daughter cannot fail. Times and 
circumstances may change. They may wax old, 
or be unfortunate, and the world will pay its 
court to the young and the successful, but in the 
heart of a daughter tl>ey can never be forgotten. 
That softening of the heart, which takes place 
toward the child, is not lost upon their relations 
to the world. Children, particularly daughters, 
are a new tie connecting the parents to their 
species, as well as hostages for their own good 
behaviour. They fe^l that their stake in the well 
being of society is increased rather than dimin- 
ished as they decline in life, for they are more 
interested for those for whose welfare they must 
at length cease to provide, than they ever were 
for themselves. They feel more solicitous to 



conciliate the good will of the world, and to 
leave behind them the odour of a good name for 
the benefit of their offspring, than from any 
advantage which they themselves can ever derive 
from them. 

The tenderness which is lavished on the 
daughter ceases not with infancy, nor is it often 
lost. There is among the higher classes a desire 
to give her the best opportunities of education, 
and amonor the lower to save her from the 
coarser labors and drudgery of life. On a 
daughter parental care is not often thrown away. 
Her affections, shut up from the world, are the 
more concentrated upon their natural objects at 
home. The mother soon finds the being, whom 
she first knew only as a plaything, as something 
to nurse and to love, grown up to be a com- 
panion, a counsellor, an aid in her cares and 
toils. The father finds not only affection, but 
society at home. The father and the daughter 
are a picture, which has been often drawn by art^ 
and described in poetry, but it has never been 
bodied forth in all the richness with which it 
paints itself upon the imagination. Their so- 
ciety, their interchange of duty and affection, is 
not only most beautiful to behold, but it is happy 
and sanctifvinor to them both. I doubt not the 


moral influence which it exerts is above all 
estimate. How is it possible that the father can 
wander from the paths of goodness, who has 
daughters whose presence must be to him a 
stinging reproach ? And how there can be a 
froward, bad, disobedient, ungrateful daughter, is 
a mystery which I for one could never fathom. 
The daughter has much in her power. She 
has youth, vivacity, generally the grace of form, 
always the charm inseparable from youth, often 
the irresistible attraction of beauty, and she may 
have the still more enduring endowment of 
amiable temper and mental accomplishment. 
And she may move in the sacred sphere of home 
as a ministering spirit of peace, and love, and 


But it may likewise be otherwise. Because 
the path of duty to her is comparatively easy, is 
dictated to her by her affections, is demonstrated 
to her by every day's experience, it does not 
follow that she will walk in it. She may prove 
false to her obligations. And what a desolation 
does she make in the domestic circle ! How 
can she wring the hearts of those whom she is 
bound by every obligation to love and cherish f 
Instead of acquiescing with cheerfulness in 
whatever her lot may be, she may annoy her 


parents by perpetual reflections and complaints. 
Instead of takinor her share of the cares and toils 
which are inseparable from a family, she may 
refuse them all, and choose to spend her time in 
idleness, or in dress, or company, and consider 
herself born for a higher lot than that of ordinary 
mortals. By the indulgence of a bad temper, 
instead of beinor the deliorht and pride of the 
domestic circle, she may keep her home in a 
perpetual broil. Alas ! for that house that is 
under the tyranny of a termagant. There is no 
dagger so sharp as the tongue of an insolent, 
disobedient, ungrateful daughter. If any eyes 
could weep tears of blood, it would be the eyes 
of parents who have brought up a daughter to 
be their terror, their torment, and their scourge. 

I have drawn this picture with unfeigned 
reluctance, which I question not is as revolting 
to all who hear me as it is to me. But I have 
done it because it was necessary to the task I 
have undertaken, to describe the sphere and the 
duties of woman, and in doing so I must state 
what is, as well as what ought to be, I must 
testify to the truth, the whole truth, and nothing 
but the truth. 

If the relation of daughter be surrounded with 
so many interesting associations, scarcely less so 


is that of sister, considered either with respect to 
her own, or the other sex. A thousand ties 
concur to bind sisters together. There is, in the 
first place, a natural affection in the human 
heart, implanted there to correspond to that 
relation, and thus unite those in attachment who 
have been borne on the same bosom, and grown 
up around the same hearth. Besides this 
instinctive affection, they naturally become at- 
tached from sympathy, from sharing the same 
joys and sorrows, and loving the same objects. 
The same events for years have filled them with 
gladness, and often they have mingled their tears 
at the same calamities. Their interests have 
been the same, and even their cliildish plays, the 
source to them of infinite delight, have made 
closer the tie which draws their hearts toorether. 
Sisters, blossoms on the same stem, what should 
ever sever them ! Stars shining in the same 
constellation, why should they not mingle their 
mild radiance in peace ! If there be in their 
hearts any capacity for attachment, how can 
their common tasks, their common pleasures, 
their perpetual society, fail of uniting them in 
the most intimate affection ? If they have any 
literary ambition, any desire for intellectual 
improvement, they may minister endlessly to 


each other's pleasures and progress. If they 
would add to literary accomplishment the charm 
of graceful and winning manners, whose eye so 
quick as that of a sister to administer friendly 
criticism and admonition? I counsel them to 
use well that portion of life, which they pass 
under the same roof, to cement the bond of 
natural affection, for the time will come when 
they will probably need it all. For as fountains, 
which rise upon the same mountain top, diverge 
and run in opposite directions, traverse plains 
as different as tropical abundance and polar 
sterility, and finally join the great ocean, one 
under the burni^L line, and the other in the 
midst of perpetu^ snows, so sisters rocked in 
the same cradle, watched over by the same 
maternal solicitude, walking hand in hand the 
same paths of education and accomplishment, 
may be destined by events over which they have 
no c&ntrol to a lot as widely contrasted as can 
possibly be conceived. Equality of conditions 
they cannot hope. How shall they resist the 
influences, which tend to divide their hearts as 
well as their fortunes ? The best security for 
lasting attachment and for happy intercourse 
through life, is the assiduous cultivation, so long 
as they are together, of kindness, forbearance, 


generosity. It is a mistake to suppose that the 
natural affections need no cultivation. They are, 
from the nature of things, subjected to the same 
laws with any other attachment. The natural 
relations are only the foundation for attachments. 
But unfaithfulness to the social relations grad- 
ually weakens the strongest natural ties, and 
sisters even, who have done nothing but cross 
and render each other uncomfortable, will seek 
their friendships any where rather than with 
those in whom they find neither sympathy nor 

But it is in the relation of brother and sister 
that the moral influence o^ivoman is more 
conspicuous than in that between sisters. There 
her mission is early displayed in restraining 
the bad passions, in softening the manners, and 
developing the affections of mankind. The 
first harmonizinof influence to which man is 
subjected, is the intercourse with his sisters 
almost from the cradle. His natural desire of 
society compels him to seek their company, and 
mingle his sports with theirs. But the doll and 
the baby-house will not stand the same rude 
treatment with his tops and hobby-horses, and 
unless he can make some treaty with them he 
cannot get them out to see him make his dam, 


and sail his ship in the gutter. The first 
condition and law of his intercourse with them 
then, is the law of gentleness and self-restraint. 
This moral influence extends not only to man- 
ners, but to sentiments. The boy, by associating 
exclusively with his own sex, becomes not only 
rude in manners, but coarse in his sentiments, 
and orross in his tastes. Thus the first defence 
is thrown down, which God has built up around 
his principles and his morals. He is more open 
to the approach of vicious associates, he may 
be farther initiated into their ways before he is 
aware of their dangerous influence. The nicer 
moral perceptionapof the female mind are usually 
the first to descry the signs of approaching 
peril, and a different relation gives the sister the 
power of a more frank and emphatic admonition 
than the parents enjoy. There is scarcely a 
more interesting sicrht on earth, than a brother 
and sister in the bloom of life, united by true 
affection, and true to all those duties and 
attentions which they mutually owe each other. 
And candor compels me to confess that failure 
is most seldom on the sister's part. There is 
a ofenerositv and self sacrifice of sisters to 
advance the interests of a brother, which I fear 
is not often reciprocated. I could fill more than 


one lecture with instances which have come to 
my personal knowledge, in which sisters have 
nobly contributed their all to raise a brother to 
the advantages of a liberal education, and thus 
to elevate him to eminence, to station, and to 

But the parental home is intended to be the 
school of woman's education, not her permanent 
abode. As the instinct, which teaches the birds 
of passage the time of their emigration, suddenly 
impels them to mount to untried regions of 
the atmosphere, and seek through cloud and 
tempest a land they have never seen, so a like 
inspiration teaches woman that there is another 
home for her, destined by the Great Designer, 
of still greater happiness than that which she has 
already known, and under the same apparent 
destiny. One appears to lead her to that happy 
place. Marriage comes as the great crisis of 
woman's existence. And where, if you search 
earth through, will you find an object which the 
eye bends on with such intense, I had almost 
said, painful interest, as a bride ? What an era 
when considered with reference either to the 
past or the future ! It is in a manner the crush 
of one world, and the beijinniniT of a new 
one. She is to ^o from a home that she has 



known and loved, where she has been loved and 
cherished, to one to which she is an utter 
stranger. Her happiness is to be subjected to 
those on whose characters, tempers, principles, 
she can make no calculation. And what is to 
assure her of the faith of him, who has sworn at 
the altar to cherish and protect her ? She may, 
in the blindness of affection, have given her heart 
to one who will wring and break it, and she 
may be going to martyrdom, where pride and 
prudence will alike deny her the poor solace 
of complaint. Yet she is willing to venture all. 
The law instituted by the Creator is upon her, 
and urges her forward. With calm confidence 
she puts herself under the protection of that 
Almighty Principle, w^hich issuing from the 
throne of God penetrates and pervades all things, 
and then returns to link itself to the throne of 
his Omnipotence, the Principle of Lo\'e, and she 
is safe. Perhaps if she knew what life has in 
store for her, she would for a moment shrink 
back. The marriage festivity would not be 
without its fears. And for myself, so many 
whom I have united for life have I seen soon 
overtaken by calamity, hoping parents bending 
in speechless agony over the loved and the lost, 
or watching with breathless apprehension the 


fearful changes of extreme disease, that to me 
there is ever an undertone of sadness in the 
weddinor's mirth ; and when that brioht beinor 
approaches, upon whom every eye centres, and 
for whom every heart palpitates, I can almost 
fancy her bridal attire transformed to mourning, 
and her blushes changed to tears. But a second 
thought convinces me that such anticipations 
are treason to God and man. Marriafje is the 
ordinance of God, and let not man gainsay it. 
It is indeed the commencement of strusrsfles and 
toils. But for what else is man made, or woman 
either? Those toils and struo-jrles shall be 
liorhter when mutual affection animates the 
effort. Troubles will come, but they come to 
all ; and who shall better sustain them than those 
to whom mutual affection gives mutual support? 
We now see woman in that sphere for which 
she was ofiginally intended, and which she is so 
exactly fitted to adorn and bless, as the wife, 
the mistress of a home, the solace, the aid, and 
the counsellor of that one, for whose sake alone 
the world is of any consequence to her. If life 
be increased in cares, so is it also enriched 
by new satisfactions. She herself, if she be 
inspired by just sentiments and true affection, 
perceives that she has attained her true position. 


Delivered from that tastelessness, which sooner 
or later creeps over a single life, every power 
and faculty is called into energetic exercise, 
and she feels the current of existence to flow 
in a richer, deeper stream. We are all made 
for action and enterprise. Existence, though 
surfeited with luxury and abundance, is insipid 
without it. The affections, which God has 
ordained to spring in the bosoms of those 
whom he has destined to pass through life 
together, are no deceivers. They are not in- 
tended to betray the sexes into a state of misery. 
The wife does not bid adieu to happiness, though 
she leaves a magnificent mansion to take up 
her abode under an humbler roof. Youth, 
health,^ employment, affection, hope, are more 
than a compensation for all. The privations 
of commencing life in narrow circumstances 
are borne with cheerfulness and alacritv. If 
there be on both sides good sense and generous 
feeling, as well as true affection, nothing will 
seem hard, and they will experience a hap- 
piness unknown to those who shut up or 
disappoint their affections from false pride, 
or from dread of losing caste, by beginning 
life precisely as their fathers and mothers did 
before them. 



The good wife ! How much of this world's 
happiness and prosperity is contained in the 
compass of these two short words ! Her 
influence is immense. The power of a wife, 
for good or for evil, is altogether irresistible. 
Home must be the seat of happiness, or it must 
be for ever unknown. A good wife is to a man 
wisdom, and courage, and strength, and hope, 
and endurance. A bad one is confusion, 
weakness, discomfiture, despair. No condition 
is hopeless when the wife possesses firmness, 
decision, energy, economy. There is no out- 
ward prosperity which can counteract indolence, 
folly, and extravagance at home. No spirit 
can long resist bad domestic influences. Man 
is strong, but his heart is not adamant. He 
delights in enterprise and action, but to sustain 
him he needs a tranquil mind, and a whole 
heart. He expends his whole moral force in 
the conflicts of the world. His f€?elino^s are 
daily lacerated to the utmost point of endurance 
by perpetual collision, irritation, and disap- 
pointment. To recover his equanimity and 
composure, home must be to him a place of 
repose, of peace, of cheerfulness, of comfort; 
and his soul renews its strenorth and acjain 
oroes forth with fresh vifjor to encounter the 


labors and troubles of the world. But if at 
home he find no rest, and there is met by a 
bad temper, sullenness, or gloom ; or is assailed 
by discontent, complaint and reproaches, the 
heart breaks, the spirits are crushed, hope 
vanishes, and the man sinks into total despair. 

Let woman know then, that she ministers 
at the very fountain of life and happiness. It 
is her hand that lades out with overflowinor 
cup its soul refreshing waters, or casts in the 
branch of bitterness which makes them poison 
and death. Her ardent spirit breathes the 
breath of life into all enterprise. Her patience 
and constancy are mainly instrumental in car- 
rying forward to completion the best human 
designs. Her more delicate moral sensibility 
is the unseen power which is ever at work to 
purify and refine society. And the nearest 
glimpse of heaven that mortals ever get on 
earth is that domestic circle, which her hands 
have trained to intelligence, virtue, and love, 
which her gentle influence pervades, and of 
which her radiant presence is the centre and 
the sun. 

It may be thought by some prosaic persons, 
that thus far in describing the sphere and duties 
of woman I have drawn too much from the 




rea^ions of sentiment and imaorination. I can 
only say in my defence, that nothing is prosaic, 
which concerns human hearts and human hap- 
piness Woman is made to live in the regions 
of the sentiments and imagination. Her sorrows 
and her joys are there. It is they which to 
her clothe the dull affairs of this every day life 
with an interest unknown to the rougher sex. 
And she herself is the very poetry of the 


< » • » ► 


N MY last lecture I gave a 
general outline of the distin- 
guishing characteristics, the 
sphere and influence of wo- 
man. It will be the object 
of the present lecture to point 
out her privileges and her 
trials. I shall examine the 
charges which are current ia 
the world against the sex, and 
show the cause and manner 
of her failure, whenever she 
does fail, to accomplish that 
high destiny to which she 
was appointed. 
And I commence by saying, that every 
American woman ought to thank God every day 
of her existence, that she was born in this 
"I country, and at the present period. The hap-» 
piness of her being depends more on outward 



circumstances than that of the other sex. Man's 
greater power of action and endurance makes 
him more at home in all conditions and all 
periods of the world. Man in a state of 
barbarism can be as rouo^h and as barbarous 
as his associates. In the absence of law and 
moral restraints he can defend himself. In the 
absence of physical comfort he can appropriate 
to himself the best that is to be had. But 
without law, without moral and religious re- 
straint, without physical comfort, the condition 
of woman is wretched indeed. Her more 
delicate frame, and the care of infancy and 
childhood, which every where falls to her lot, 
expose her to greater suffering from the want 
of physical comforts ; the ruder the cabin, the 
more scantily it is supplied with the necessary 
furniture for cooking, warming, and repose, 
the more pitiable is her condition. And where 
there is no law but individual will, whatever 
wrong is inflicted, she is generally the suflerer. 
Her lot varies then, in different ages, precisely 
with the progress of civilization. In the United 
States civilization, including in that term physical 
comfort and abundance with the subjection of 
society to the restraints of morality and religion, 
has reached a greater perfection than has any 


where else ; been known. Woman, for the 
reasons I have already stated, is more interested 
than man in the progress of the arts. The 
labors of the field remain much the same from 
ao-e to aofe. but the two processes of orindinor 
meal by machinery, and spinning and weaving 
by the power of steam and water, have libe- 
rated millions of female hands from the dullest 
drudgery, and from the slavery of perpetual 
toil. And that conquest of law and justice, 
which marks the last stage in the progress of 
human rights, which gives man but one wife 
and thus makes her his equal, and his com- 
panion, does more for her elevation than any 
political change which any civil revolution has 
ever accomplished for man. To make the 
American woman happy in her lot, no matter 
what that lot may be, she has only to read 
the history of past ages, and make herself 
acquainted with the present condition of the 
world. Let her cast her eyes upon the map 
of the globe and survey Asia, the cradle of 
the human race. History will tell her that 
that vast continent was filled with inhabitants 
and poured out her armed millions upon the 
West before the forests of Europe had been 
penetrated by the foot of civilization. While 


the countries which now constitute Spain, 
France, England, Germany, and Russia, were 
an unbroken wilderness, and America was 
utterly unknown, the banks of the Euphrates, 
the Indus, and the Gannfcs were throno^ed 
with a crowded population, and China herself 
numbered nearly as many inhabitants as the 
rest of Asia. From that day to this there has 
been no falling off in numbers, and we may 
safely say, that in Asia have liv-ed two-thirds 
of the human race; and not one of all the 
millions of the female sex who have existed 
there, has enjoyed what are now considered 
the natural and unalienable ris^hts of woman. 
Europe was little better till the introduction 
of Christianity. Tacitus, it is true, speaks of 
the higher estimation in which the ancient 
Germans held their women, and there was 
undoubtedly a greater respect paid her by the 
rude barbarians of the North than hnd ever 
been exhibited in Asia or Southern Europe. 
What woman is at the present day as the 
friend and equal of man, she owes entirely to 
Christianity and the doctrine of immortality 
which accompanies it. It is only the respect 
for her, generated by the belief of her pos- 
sessing an immortal and responsible soul like 


man, that can vindicate for her that social 
equality with man which physically she does 
not possess. The elevation of woman is a 
struggle between power and right. The right 
will prevail just as fast, and just as fkr, as the 
moral and religious sentiments are made to 
predominate in man over the sensual and the 
selfish. No form of Paganism has ever yet 
had the power so far to cultivate the moral 
and religious sentiments, as to compel man 
to emancipate woman from that bondage in 
which his superior strength enables him to 
hold her. 

The working of the new principle of respect 
for the female sex, though early introduced 
into the Christian church, first became visible 
in the sentiments of society in the middle ages. 
It was the new sentiment of respect for woman, 
mtroduced by Christianity, which gave rise to 
chivalry, that splendid enthusiasm of the human 
heart, which passing from one extreme to the 
other, elevated woman from a slave to a deitv. 
It may seem unaccountable to the student of 
history, how so great a change could have been 
effected in the sentiments of mankind. A few- 
ages before, we see woman secluded, oppressed, 
her will and inclinations first subjected to the 


control of her parents, and afterwards to that 
of her husband, her lot chosen for her without 
the least regard to her happiness. On a 
sudden we see her raised to an idol. The 
splendid pageant of the tournament passes be- 
fore us. All there then was of wealth, of 
nobility, of valor, is assembled ; chariots are 
glittering, horses are prancing, young and hot 
blood is mounted, armed to the teeth for mortal 
combat. And all for what? For whom is all 
this pomp, this military array, this fierce and 
bloody encounter? Direct your eye to yonder 
pavilion, decked with more than oriental mag- 

"Where the gorgeous East with richest hand. 
Showers on her kings barbaric, pearl and gold.'' 

There sits woman enthroned as queen, and 
all this magnificence is but an expression of 
the new born reverence which had sprung up 
for her in the human heart. The suitor for her 
hand and heart, no longer approaches her sordid 
parents with money, to buy her as a slave, but 
he must win her affections by a surrender of 
his own. The parties thus commencing their 
connexion on avowed terms of equality, there 
was a better chance for kind and respectful 
treatment on the part of the stronger sex. 

» Lt: 


To this elevation of woman the theology of 
the time undoubtedly contributed. Woman had 
been nearly connected with the story of man's 

" The holy virgin bending o'er her blessed babe," 

had been made the subject of art, by the vivid 
feelings and fervid imaginations of the sou^thern 
Europeans. And nothing perhaps, could be 
more striking to a barbarian fancy. How could 
it be, that woman should not be exalted in the 
eyes of those who were taught, that Mary had 
been the mother of God. The Madonna and 
her child, in painting and sculpture, was the 
favorite decoration of the temples of the Most 
High. It was impossible for those barbarians, 
already imbued with a reverence for the female 
sex unknown among other nations, thus to 
see woman associated with the forms and rites 
of religion, without insensibly elevating their 
own conceptions of her dignity and her rights. 
Accordingly we see in those ao^es the strano-est 
admixture of devotion and love. Indeed the 
true kniorht seemed often to blend the imasre 
of the mistress of his human affections with 
her whom he conceived to demand a hiorher 


From that day to this the condition of 
woman has been constantly improving in the 
whole occidental world. The laws of marriao^e 
and inheritance have more and more been 
conformed to the doctrines and spirit of the 
New Testament; and under their influence 
woman has been gradually rising to that con- 
ditioji for which she was originally designed, 
and in which she was placed when it was 
said, that God created man, male and female. 
In the United States these principles are more 
fully carried out. The waters of the Atlantic 
seem to have washed out the last traces of that 
oriental prejudice which cleaved so long to the 
race, and which condemns woman to a social 
inferiority to man. 

Another circumstance which has contributed 
to raise the female sex to a superior social 
condition to any that she has ever known 
before, is the sparseness of our population, 
when compared with the productiveness of the 
soil, and the perfection of the mechanic arts. 
There cannot be much respect for woman 
where she is forced out of her sphere, and 
compelled to participate with man in the labors 
of the field; or when she is so tasked as 
to preclude all possibility of cultivating her 


intellectual powers, and of acquiring those 
accomplishments which are appropriate to her 
sex. The labor once done by female hands, 
but now performed by machinery in this coun- 
try, is perhaps as great in amount as could be 
done by all the females in it. The result is, 
that while in Spain, and France, and Italy, 
and sometimes in England, the women are 
seen to labor in the same fields and upon 
the same public works with men, and in 
consequence become coarse in their persons, 
and still coarser in their sentiments and man- 
ners, nothing of the kind is seen here. 

How can any American woman forbear to 
thank the kind Disposer of her lot every time 
she sees a colony of the peasantry of the old 
world pass through our streets, the women 
bearing in their persons, defrauded of everv 
grace and every charm, the marks of the 
oppression and servitude of untold generations! 
Where among the women of our own happy 
country can there be found any counterpart 
to this? 

Such is the abundance of physical comfort 
that reigns among us, extending even to those 
who get their bread by day labor, that one 
generation is sufficient to obliterate the marks 



of the degradation to which they have been 
accustomed. Their better social condition en- 
ables the children of the poorest to acquire a 
delicacy and refinement, which in the same 
class is unknown in other countries. 

As woman is no where so worthy of respect 
as in this country^ so is she no where treated 
with so much. A late female traveller from 
England, who certainly ought to be a com- 
petent judge, remarks: "The degree of con- 
sideration shown to woman is, in my opinion, 
greater than is rational, or good for either 
party." Their better physical condition, with- 
out doubt, enables them to command greater 
respect, and this respect reacts upon their 
physical condition, and gives them those privi- 
leges and exemptions, by which alone their 
dignity may be sustained. 

Although as yet falling far short of its relative 
value, female labor is better rewarded here than 
it is any where else. For we have not yet 
reached, nor shall we reach for centuries to 
come, the second barbarism, of an overgrown 
population. When that comes, no matter what 
may be the sentiment with regard to woman, 
her degradation and oppression will follow of 
course. Famine and want extinguish all sen- 


timent, all humanity^ and tbe weaker will always 
be found the suJfFering party. 

I repeat it then, every American woman has 
reason to thank God every day of her life^ that 
she was boni in this happy country.. She 
cannot read of any portion or period of the 
world, without becoming more and more con- 
vinced, that America is the Paradise of women. 

The enlightened traveller, of whom I just 
spoke, expresses the opinion that the consid- 
eration with which women are treated in this 
country is carried to excess, that she suffers 
for it in the end, by the feebleness, effeminacy, 
helplessness and bad health which it induces. 
For my own part I must confess that I fully 
agree with her in this opinion.^ However 
important may be the sphere which woman 
was created to fill, however much she may do 
to adorn and embellish life, and promote social 
happiness, it is evident that ill health puts it 
entirely out of her power, either to enjoy l^er- 
self, or minister to the happiness of others. 

It must therefore, I think,, bje set down 
among the faults of the women of this country, 
that they do not take sufficient care of their 
health. There is evidently a great falling off 
in this particular within one generation. The 



women that are now going off the stage, are 
certainly a very different race of beings from 
those who are coming on. When I see the 
fragile and diminutive forms of the women of 
our times, and compare them with the women 
whom I recollect as the partners of the men 
of the revolution, it seems to me that if the 
men of that age had had such mothers, we 
never should have had any revolution at all. 
However sublimated may be our ideas of 
woman, she still belongs to this earth, she is 
still subjected to the laws of organized and 
animated nature. Those laws go on to their 
fulfilment regardless of sentiment, of fashion 
and the usages of society. Health is the result 
of obedience to those laws, and they cannot 
be infringed in the least degree, without a 
corresponding injury. Health is the result of 
simple food, abstinence from stimulants, season- 
able hours of repose, regular employment, much 
exercise in the open air, proper clothing and a 
tranquil mind. Any transgression of any one 
of these laws is sure to be followed by suffering, 
by impxaired health, an enfeebled constitution, 
disordered nerves, wretchedness and dejection. 
Now let us see if one single law of all these I 
have enumerated, is observed in this country, 


especially among the higher classes. The pro- 
gress of luxury among us, the freedom of com- 
munication amonof all nations, has loaded the 
tables of the more affluent classes with the 
delicacies of all lands. It is as much as the 
most considerate and abstinent can do to 
restrain themselves amid so many thousand 
temptations, within the bounds of healthfiil 
moderation. But what shall I say of the 
sumptuous entertainments which fashion has 
made necessary to those who mingle in general 
society? After having been compelled by ill i 
health to make myself scientifically acquainted j 
with this subject, when I see the feasts to j 
which I am invited by the generous hospitality j 
of my nearest and dearest friends, I confess I 1 
am appalled. AVhen I see the- variety and the 
richness of one course -after another as it comes | 
on, I am filled with astonishment, I marvel, not j 
why there are so many invalids amongst us, but 
how we live at all. 

This mode of living will possibly do for men 
who exercise much in the open air, and whose 
constitutions are more robust. It might do for 
women who are active housekeepers, or who 
consider it a sacred duty to take a long walk 
every day. But to those who do neither, but 


sit in warm apartments, and busy themselves 
in reading or needle work, it is absolute de- 
struction. When we add to this, late hours, 
crowded saloons, thin dressing, and hardly an 
apology for shoes, how should it be otherwise, 
than that our women, the most beautiful the 
sun has ever shone upon, should be the earliest 
to fade? At that period of life when the 
European woman is in the meridian of ma- 
tronly beauty, full of energy, life, and cheer- 
fulness, the American woman has shrunk into 
the withered proportions of advanced life. I 
consider this to be one of the most melancholy 
features of our state of society. And are the 
daucjhters of this land, who thus trifle with 
themselves, aware of the full import of the 
term, bad health? Those who have never ex- 
perienced it, have no idea of the length and 
the breadth, the height and the depth of its 
sad significance. It means in the first place, 
the loss of all personal charms. It means a 
faded complexion, early wrinkles, and gray 
hairs. It means the decay of all the suscep- 
tibilities of enjoyment. It means a deadness to 
all that is cheerful and pleasant in life. It 
means a distressing sense of burden and op- 
pression under the most common and easy 


duties, which are otherwise the source of satis- 
faction and alacrity. It means a sick room, 
with all its hoitible and loathsome paraphernalia 
of medicines, and drugs, and potions, at the 
very thought of which the soul sickens and 
revolts. If there be one woman within the 
sound of my voice, who possesses firm health 
and a sound constitution, I entreat her, if she 
have any regard for her own happiness, if she 
do not wish to strip this life of every charm, 
to make it her religious duty to preserve so 
invaluable a blessing. 

She will do this the rather, as I shall go on 
to show, that her happiness depends upon it 
in more ways than she may at first be aware. 
It is impossible for ill health and a serene 
temper to go together. Ill health is almost 
always attended by weakness and irritability of 
the nervous system. Things that we can bear 
i calmly when we are in health, become the 
causes of insupportable vexation when we are 
sick. Disagreeable thoughts then become almost 
as painful as cuts and bruises when we are in 
health. The female constitution is at all times 
much more liable to impressions than that of 
the other sex. In ill health this is greatly 
aggravated ; and she must be a saint indeed, 


who, in perpetual ill health, and the derange- 
ment of domestic affairs, which is almost sure 
to ensue^ can always keep her temper serene. 
A serene temper i« perhaps the first requisite 
to domestic happiness* Any failure here strikes 
at the root of all enjoyment. Our sources of 
happiness are more spiritual than is generally 
conceived. The world at large is apt to judge 
by externals; when they see wealth and splendor 
they imagine there must be happiness of course. 
But nothing can be more mistaken. Happiness 
resides in the mind, and the upholsterer can 
do very little to procure it. It consists in a 
consciousness of harmony, of esteem, and 
attachment, more than in any thing else. 
Wherever there is entire confidence, and a 
consciousness of true attachment, there is the 
very material of satisfaction. Existence under 
those circumstances is happiness. We breathe 
it like the very atmosphere which surrounds us. 
Any interruption of this feeling is not so 
much a remote cause of unhappiness, as it is 
itself wretchedness and misery. There is no 
other way to live happily then, but to gain 
entire mastery over the temper. And this 
difficulty is vastly increased by the irritability 
of ill health. 


There is an obscure tradition, which has 
been handed down from a remote antiquity, 
that the female sex are prone to abuse the 
noble gift of speech; in short, that they are 
apt to make a rash and unadvised use of the 
tongue. They are accused of having an un- 
warrantable curiosity about the affairs of other 
people, and then an irrepressible desire of 
communicating to others that of which they 
had better have been ignorant themselves. The 
grave charge has been brought against them 
by their own sex, of a propensity to scandal 
and mischief making. It is said, that the sins 
of the tonofue are the besettincr sins of woman. 
This charge I shall attempt neither to palliate 
nor deny. I could not be faithful to the duty 
I have undertaken, to delineate the sphere and 
I duties of woman, if I lightly passed over it. 
It is unfortunately the case, that the power we 
all possess of doing mischief infinitely transcends 
our power of doing good. It may take ages 
and generations to build up a great city, but 
one incendiary may burn it down in a night. 
It costs time and money to build the noble 
ship, yet when she is launched and filled with 
the precious things of the earth, one false 
sweep of her rudder may plunge her in the 



bosom of the ocean. So it requires years to 
build up between two souls the still nobler 
edifice of a sacred friendship. Yet it is in the 
power of the weakest person living, who pos- 
sesses speech, to destroy it in a moment. 
The report, and perhaps misrepresentation of 
a hasty speech, the ebullition of a transitory 
emotion, may plant a thorn in the breast that 
can never be extracted. 

We are all imperfect, and do many things 
that are censurable every day ; and our best 
actions are capable of being so misrepresented 
as to appear to be not only without merit, 
but actually odious. 

Some women appear to be incapable of 
keeping a secret. It seems to burn upon 
their lips till they have uttered it. Let a 
woman of this description come in possession 
of a secret, affecting the peace of whole 
families, and- which every tie of humanity 
would persuade her to bury in utter oblivion, 
and what does she do? Stay at home and 
forget it by pursuing her accustomed avocations ? 
Ah ! no, wet or dry, cold or hot, out she must 
so at the earliest hour that it is decent to 
visit. She calls on her most intimate friend, 
without perhaps any definite intention of un- 


burdeninof her mind. But when she arrives, 
she can think of nothing else. One topic 
after another is started, but all immediately 
flag. A strange air of mystery and constraint 
comes over her, which brings the conversation 
entirely to a stand. "What is the matter? Has 
any thing happened ? Do tell me what has 
happened." It is all over. Out it must come, 
if it costs her her life. But then she quiets her 
conscience by exacting a promise of inviolable 
secrecy. That promise of secrecy however, 
means that she will tell it only to those of her 
immediate acquaintance, whom she can trust ; 
so in about two days it is all over town. It 
is a profound secret until it is found that every 
body knows it. Thus it is in the power of 
some two or three women, who are so disposed, 
to keep any community in a perpetual strife. 
I have myself known a whole town to be 
thrown into the most violent excitement, and 
a division created, which separated families, 
alienated friends, and entirely broke up all 
social harmony for years, by one base insinua- 
tion of not more than ten words. 

It might seem at first sight, that such 
conduct as this could proceed from nothing 
but pure malice. But whoever should draw 


this inference would commit great injustice. 
In nine cases out of ten it has no worse or 
deeper motive than love of excitement, fondness 
for telling news. It proceeds from inconsidera- 
tion, and the want of something more important 
to cnofaofe their attention. The thoucrhts of 


man are busied in other matters. He has not 
time for gossip even if he had the inclination. 
Between rei^rets and self oratulation on the 
past, struggle for the present, and plans for 
the future, he has little time to look into his 
neighbors' affairs. But women, who are sliut 
out from the exhaustless topics of business and 
politics, are under a stronger temptation to 
busy themselves in what is going on immediately 
around them. It is not malice. For let that 
very neighbor, whose character in a thoughtless 
hour they have picked in pieces, be overtaken 
by sickness and distress, and their hearts are 
the first to bleed, their hands the first to bring 

Women are accused of being strong in 
their prejudices, personal in their feelings, 
quick to take offence, and implacable in their 
resentments. Women are said never to quarrel 
with any discretion. When once roused they 
do and say things that never can be forgiven 


nor forgotten. This certainly, if it be true, is 
an unfortunate trait of character. It is un- 
fortunate for the world, but still more so for 
themselves. Imperfect as we all are, occasions 
of offence are often occurring, and it is very 
certain that if every real offence, much more 
every imaginary one, were resented and pursued 
to the utmost, there could be no peace in 
society. Nothing in the world is more easy 
than to quarrel, if people are so disposed. 
The most trivial things may be tortured either 
into neglect, or freedom or insult. So that it 
may generally be said, that most quarrels are 
not so much the consequence of any particular 
offence, as the manifestation of a state of mind 
previously existing. The wolf is always sure 
to discover that the lamb he has determined to 
devour, has been troubling the water, though 
be spies it below him in the stream. 

This quickness and depth of feeling has a 
natural cause in the greater susceptibility of 
the female constitution to impressions, of all 
kinds, and in the feeling of helplessness and 
dependence. None feel so deeply as those 
who cannot resist. Woman then, when she 
considers herself injured, has it not in her 
power to feel or to display the same magnan- 



imity that she might if she were conscious of 
the ability to vindicate her rights. A sense of 
wrong sinks deep into her soul, it rankles 
there, and her lively imagination clothes the 
perpetrator with all painful and hateful asso- 
ciations, which reason and religious principle 
cannot always dispel. Of this fact all women 
ought to be fully aware, and as they value 
their own happiness and that of society, they 
ought to study to moderate their feelings, and 
take those general and philosophical views of 
things, which forbid us to lay any thing too 
much to heart in this short and uncertain life. 
In judging them too, it must be remembered 
that this fault grows upon the same branch, 
and arises from the same peculiarity of tem- 
perament whence spring her brightest virtues, 
her capacity for strong, devoted, and unalterable 
attachment, and another characteristic no less 
essential to her happiness, the power of over- 
looking in those whom she loves, the most 
glaring faults and imperfections of character. 

It is said that woman is irrationally fond of 
ornament, and is led by that passion into 
hurtful extravagance. This censure, however 
just it may be, must be made with discrimina- 
tion. The propensity to ornament in woman 


is an instinct, it is universal and unvarying. 
It is coeval with our race. The oldest book 
we have, often mentions it, and generally 
without disapprobation. The catacombs of 
Egypt are filled with the relics of ancient 
female ornaments. The streets of Thebes on 
a fine day exhibited doubtless as brilliant a 
spectacle as is now witnessed in Paris, London 
or New York. If it be an instinct, and I 
believe it is, it was made to be indulged, and 
answers some good purpose. It springs from 
the same principle which produces order, 
neatness and cleanliness in the house, which 
is woman's peculiar province. It is unphilo- 
sophical and unwise therefore, to banish orna- 
ment. This is not the way in which the 
Almighty himself has proceeded. He has not 
constructed this world upon the bare principle 
of utihty. He has added beauty, or rather 
ornament to his works. Men do but imitate 
him then, in adding beauty to usefulness, 
when they consult the taste, the sense of 
beauty, which the Deity has implanted within 

The Deity, with his superior power and 
wisdom, does not ornament his works as an 
after thought, but he blends beauty with utility 


in the original creation. No one will deny the 
usefulness of woman herself, and God has not 
poured beauty more lavishly on any of his 
works. There is, moreover, provision made for 
the gratification of this taste for the beautiful 
and ornamental. The earth furnishes more than 
a subsistence for those who cultivate it. That 
surplus population, which may be supported 
from the soil, find a being and a subsistence in 
ministering to the taste of the rest. Hence 
the fine arts. Music, Statuary and Painting. 
Hence the thousand innocent comforts and 
luxuries with which life is embellished, and 
which, when kept within due bounds, promote 
elevation of sentiment and refinement of man- 
ners. Hence Literature, Philosophy, Poetry and 
Eloquence. These certainly minister bound- 
lessly to the happiness of mankind. Among 
the beneficial influences of the Christian Sabbath 
may undoubtedly be reckoned the fact, that it 
redeems one day in seven from the negligence 
and soil of labor. The cleanliness and decency 
of the outward person promote the moral eleva- 
tion of the soul within. This taste for ornament 
undoubtedly has its purpose as connected with 
the moral discipline of mankind. But, as in 
all other things, the difficulty is to say where it 


shall stop. Too much money may be expended 
in this way. The ornaments of woman are of 
such a nature that with infinite ease they may 
be carried to the most ruinous extravagance. 
The necessaries of life have a value which is 
certain, and bears a near proportion to the 
cost of production. Not so with luxuries, 
ornaments especially. Their price is altogether 
arbitrary, generally two or three times their 
real cost. When, therefore, the love of finery 
gets possession of a people, it becomes an 
enormous evil, politically speaking. It is suf- 
ficient to upset the balance of trade, and drain 
the precious metals from a country. 

If the American woman chooses to purchase 
with a whole day's labor of her husband what 
costs the labor of a Parisian milliner or glove 
maker, or a silk weaver of ^ons only an hour, 
and the difference between the day's labor of 
the American farmer and the French operative 
is to be settled by the payment of coin, is it 
not evident that the price she pays for the 
gratification of her taste is ruin to her country ? 
This is the explanation of the accounts we see 
almost weekly of the shipment of large amounts 
of specie to Europe. Parisian skill and taste, 
operating upon this love of finery, have made 


the world their tributary. The current of money 
sets in upon them from all quarters of the 
globe. But what is to become of a nation 
like ours which imports twenty three millions' 
worth of silks in one year? What will become 
of a nation, one tenth of whose exports goes 
to pay for jewelry and trinkets ? 

The over indulgence in a taste for finery 
does not stop at its economical effects. Its 
social and moral consequences are no less 
pernicious. It is one great cause and instru- 
ment of the follies and sins of what is called 
fashionable life, which is woman's great snare. 
It creates distinctions in society, which are 
as absurd as they are invidious and unjust. 
It brings about a principle of association, 
which is fatal to the dignity of human nature, 
that those shall ^ome together for mutual 
entertainment, not whose minds are most 
accomplished, or whose manners are most 
refined, but who are able to change their 
dresses the oftenest during the winter. This 
operates upon all but the most opulent as the 
most grinding oppression. Oh ! how many 
hearts there are in the brilliant saloon, where 
all should be joyous, sad and depressed by the 
consciousness that the foolish frippery in which 


they are compelled to appear, has cost them 
more than their own better judgment assures 
them they ought to expend in the decoration 
of their persons. This, together with prepos- 
terous hours and sumptuous entertainments, 
operates in each circle as an intolerable op- 
pression to that immediately below them in 
point of wealth, and so down to those whose 
means are most limited, and often renders, I 
fear, that social intercourse which ouglit to be 
a blessing and a privilege, little better than a 
curse. To one whose observation has penetra- 
ted behind the scenes, and seen the miserable 
struggles and subterfuges to which the tyranny 
of fashion compels people to resort, a splendid 
party of pleasure suggests any idea rather than 
that of unmingled enjoyment. It is this op- 
pression moreover, which exasperates to incura- 
ble alienation those feelings of jealousy, which 
are too apt to spring up between the different 
orders of society, and finally break out in 
violence and blood. Every woman then, no 
matter what may be her wealth, who gives 
into these fashionable follies, much more who 
commences and fosters them, commits a sin 
alike against humanity, morality, and religion. 
She is doing all she can to destroy the 


pleasures and advantages of society, and make 
it a miserable slavery, to shut out of it those 
who would adorn and improve it the most, 
and give it up to the empty, the ostentatious, 
and the weak. 

Beware then, I would charge every woman 
who hears me, beware how you are drawn 
into the vortex of fashion. You will not only 
wrong society, but do an irreparable injury to 
yourself. You will not have travelled far on 
that road, before you will find a fearful change 
take place in yourself. You will find the old 
and home bred virtues of fidelity and sincerity 
fast taking leave of you. You will find yourself 
first talking merely to have something to say, 
then saying what you think will be agreeable, 
then with no higher temptation, saying what 
is not true. You will find yourself gradually 
alienated from the friends of your heart, to be 
surrounded by the insincere and the syco- 
phantic. When you have cut loose from all 
natural ties, and smothered every natural af- 
fection, you will find yourself utterly dependent 
on a circle, who you know in your heart 
would shake you off on the first reverse of 
fortune. And you will be, moreover, con- 
scious to yourself, that you stand up before 



the world the most odious of the thinors 
which the sun shines upon — a woman with- 
out a heart 


^ a » • » 


N THE lecture before the 
last we instated woman in 
that sphere which she was 
created to fill, that of the 
wife, the mistress of a home, 
the head of a family. In that 
position we shall contemplate 
her in the present lecture. 
I intend to show that it is 
one eminently calculated to 
promote her happiness, to de- 
velope and perfect her charac- 
ter. We have a right to infer 
this antecedently from the na- 
ture of the Deity. Being in- 
finitely w^ise as well as infinitely benevolent, 
he could not fail to fit woman to her sphere, 
and her sphere to woman in such a way, that 
when she follows the leadings of his hand 
she shall attain to all the happiness that is 
compatible with this imperfect state. 


She is fitted to find happiness in that 
relation by the affections of her heart. The 
grand essentials to happiness in this life are 
something to do, something to love, and 
something to hope for. We all must have 
something to love. Especially is this the case 
with woman, whose capacity for affection is 
much oreater than that of man. 

There is a famous passage in the writings 
of Rousseau, that great delineator of the 
human heart, which is as true to human 
nature as it is beautiful in expression ; " Were 
I in a desert I would find out wherewith in 
it to call forth my affections. If I could do 
no better, I would fasten them on some sweet 
myrtle, or some melancholy cypress, to con- 
nect myself to ; I would court them for their 
shade, and greet them kindly for their pro- 
tection. I would write my name upon them, 
and declare that they were the sweetest trees 
throughout all the desert. If their leaves 
withered, I would teach myself to mourn, and 
when they rejoiced I would rejoice along with 
them." Such is the absolute necessity which 
exists in the human heart of having something 
to love. Unless the affections have an object, 
life itself becomes joyless and insipid. The 




affections have this peculiarity, that they are 
not so much the means of happiness, as . their 
exercise is happiness itself. And not only so, 
if they have no object, the happiness derived 
from our other powers is cut off. Action and 
enterprise flag, if there be no object dear to 
the heart, to which those actions can be 
directed. The woman then, who has chosen 
a husband worthy of her affections, with a 
common share of this world's prosperity, has 
the highest possible chance for happiness. 
Her heart has found the very thing to which 
it was made to attach itself. It is filled and 
satisfied. She has now somethinop to live for. 
All her powers of action are awakened to 
an energy which she never felt before. She 
has, moreover, guidance and protection. What 
more can she want? Her affections are the 
buoyant motives to her activity, and her ac- 
tivity is the more happy as it expresses and 
gratifies her affections. Thus life is absolutely 
full. Every day brings with it its own satis- 
factions. There is consequently no regret for 
the past, nor any necessity of postponing all 
happiness to the future. 

Then, the affections are not only their own 
reward, their own happiness, but they are the 


best teachers of duty. And here is an ex- 
hibition of Divine Wisdom which ought to call 
forth our perpetual admiration. As affection 
is the strono-est motive to dutv, so the wise 
Designer has secured the most intimate and 
fundamental relation by the strongest affection. 
No human leorislation could enforce that treat- 
ment of husband and wife which is essential 
to the happiness of both. No interference 
from any source is of the least service, and 
happiness and all prospect of it, must be ban- 
ished before there can be any appeal to a third 
party. But when two are united by true affec- 
tion, the heart has given a bond of duty stronger 
than can be imposed by any compulsory obli- 
gation. Hence it is that marriage generally 
produces the best effect upon the female cha- 
racter. Indeed it may be said, that it always 
improves it, if it be capable of improvement. 

There is no teacher like true affection. The 
Jewish and Christian religions vindicate their 
claim to a Divine origin as much as in any 
other way in the deep wisdom and philosophi- 
cal truth upon which they are founded. They 
do not begin by saying, thou shalt do this or 
that, but they go deeper, and say, "Thou shalt 
lofe the Lord thy God, with all thy heart, and 


102 spheUe and duties of woman. 

with all thy soul, and with all thy strength, and 
with all thy mind, and thy neighbor as thyself," 
well knowinof that these two commandments 
embrace all others. So in laying the founda- 
tions of society, the Creator based them upon 
affection. He made no outward law directing 
the conduct in the primary relations. He did 
not say to the first pair, "Ye shall treat each 
other thus and so." But he put between them 
those affections which are the best security of 
duty. He so formed their hearts, that they 
must involuntarily fulfil the first command, ''Ye 
shall love each other with an affection, before 
which all others fade away;" an enactment 
which has lost nothing of its force, and which 
has in all ages led husband and wife, forsaking 
all other connexions, to cleave to each other, 
so as to all purposes of this life to become 
one, to be identified in feeling, purpose, inte- 
rest, and endeavor. 

Marriage generally improves the character of 
woman, not only because it puts her under 
the best possible tuition, that of the affections, 
and affords scope to her active energies, but 
because it gives her higher aims, and a more 
dignified position in society. Oh! how much 
there is of female talent and capacity, which 



is never developed for want of an opportunity! 
Where education has been careful and thorough, 
there is a great development of power. Society, 
after the completion of school education, is the 
means of still further improvement. For a few 
years it fills the female mind. Every thing is 
fresh and new, and therefore interesting. One 
scene of gaiety after another absorbs and en- 
grosses the attention. Emancipation from the 
confinement of school discipline, and the plea- 
sures of free and independent action, are 
enough to make life pass agreeably away. But 
the time at leno^th comes, when all these thing's 
begin to pall. The feeling begins occasionally 
to come over the young woman, that it is but 
a sorry account of human life, that it is spent 
in a perpetual round of frivolities. The human 
mind is made for serious realities, and never 
can be satisfied with any thing else. Unless 
supplied with these it loses its self respect. 
The mind unoccupied without, turns inward 
and preys upon itself. In this state of things 
the moral dispositions suffer. The temper can- 
not retain its sunny brightness, and a new 
generation coming forward with the charms of 
youth and beauty, is in no degree calculated 
to increase the self complacency of the woman 


who has trod the whole round of the gaieties 
of the world. There is apt to arise about that 
time a critical spirit, which is not altogether 
pleased with things as they are. There is a 
fear of falling into neglect, which becomes 
watchfully suspicious of any signs of it. The 
generous feelings are too apt to contract, and 
the openness and freedom of earlier years give 
place to reserve. All these evils find their 
remedy in the new relations which marriage 
brings about. The affections havinor found their 
proper object, harmony and complacency are 
restored to the soul. The active powers having 
found something worthy of them to tlo, go 
forth in joyful exercise. The critical spirit dis- 
appears, and woman, finding herself embarked 
anew in the great voyage of life, feels disposed 
to cultivate the best feelings towards her fellow 

If marriage places woman in that sphere 
where she may attain the greatest happiness, 
so does it advance her to a station of power 
and responsibility. Her power over her hus- 
band's happiness is almost absolute. By 
wisdom, by steadiness, by forbearance, by 
meekness, she may be to him a tower of 
strength. But no tongue can tell the ways 


in which she may annoy and render him 

The first thinof to be watched over is the 
temper. Short of an absolute control of this, 
there is no happiness in married life. Re- 
sentment, just so far as it exists, and so long 
as it lasts, destroys that state of feeling, 
which, constitutes the happiness of those who 
are connected by the most sacred tie. The 
proper affection finds its satisfaction in per- 
petual demonstrations of kindness. But what 
an altered and an awful condition of thinors 
when a state of feelino- has arisen, which 
finds its highest ofratification in crossinor and 
vexinof one another ! Is it not hicrhlv dan- 
gerous then to indulge in such a state of feeling 
for a single moment? Alas! that there should 
be two human beings so mad and so unprin- 
cipled as to pursue such a course of conduct 
as this ! 

It is said, that there are few happy matches. 
Dr. Watts indeed, a century ago, wrote a cele- 
brated poem under this title. If it be a fact, 
it is the blackest record against humanity. 
Those who enter into the marriao^e relation 
with true attachment, and become unhappy, 
are the most unfortunate and criminal of man- 



kind, and they have none to blame but them- 
selves. They are suicides in a double sense. 
One of the worst indications of the moral 
condition of our country, is the number of 
applications for divorce which are annually 
made to the legislatures in the different states. 
By this indication it would seem that we have 
sunk below even heathen morality. Such a 
thing as a divorce was not known in the 
Roman state for four centuries from its founda- 
tion. I never see an account of a case of this 
kind without picturing to myself the deep 
misery which must precede, accompany, and 
follow such a proceeding. You never read 
the details of a divorce, except in cases of 
gross immorality, without recognising the fact, 
that the great cause of connubial unhappiness 
is want of mutual forbearance and self con- 

As a wife's control over her husband's 
happiness is almost unlimited, so is her in- 
fluence over his fortunes. Some women make 
it a matter of pride and of boast that they 
govern their husbands, and consider it a mark 
of their superiority. The very attempt is a 
proof of the contrary. It is only the foolish 
and the weak that can ever even wish to do 

— :^ 


SO. Such a boast is equally disgraceful to 
both parties. The will too, often bears an 
inverse proportion to the other powers of the 
mind. And you sometimes find women who 
seem to be little else than the incarnation of 
a fierce and indomitable will. Such women 
will have their way, it is true, because a wise 
man will sacrifice much for peace. But it is 
no more government than it is when a mob 
gets the mastery of a town. They govern, it 
is true, because all government is suspended. 
A woman has her husband's fortunes in her 
power, because she may, or she may not, as 
she pleases, conform to his circumstances. 
This is her first duty, and it ought to be her 
pride. No passion for luxury or display ought 
for a moment to tempt her to deviate in the 
least degree from this line of conduct. She 
will find her happiness and her respectability 
in it. Any other course is wretchedness itself, 
and inevitably leads to ruin. Nothing can be 
more miserable than the struggle to keep up 
an appearance. If it could succeed, it would 
cost more than it is worth, -and as it never > 
can, its failure involves the deepest mortifi- i 
cation. Some of the sublimest exhibitions of j 
human virtue have be^i made by women, who | 


have been precipitated suddenly from wealth 
and splendor to absolute want. It costs per- 
haps the mightiest struggle which the mind 
can make to conform at once and without a 
murmur to altered circumstances ; but when 
it is over, it brings its own rich reward. 
There is no other way but to submit, and 
begin to spin the web of hope and endeavor 

Then a man's fortunes are in a manner in 
the hands of his wife, inasmuch as his own 
power of exertion depends on her. His moral 
strength is inconceivably increased by her 
sympathy, her counsel, her aid. She can aid 
him immensely by relieving him of every care 
which she is capable of taking upon herself. 
His own employments are usually such to 
require his whole time, and his whole mind. 
A good wife will never suffer her husband's 
attention to be distracted by details, to which 
her own time and talents are adequate. If 
she be prompted by true affection and good 
sense, she will perceive when his spirit is 
borne down and overwhelmed. She of all 
human beings can best minister to its needs. 
For the sick soul her nursing is quite as 
sovereign, as it is for corporeal ills. If it be 



weary, in her assiduity it finds repose and 
refi-eshment. If it be harassed and worn to a 
morbid irritability, her gentle tones steal over 
it with a soothing more potent than the most 
exquisite music. If every enterprise be dead, 
and hope itself almost extinguished, her pa- 
tience and fortitude have the power to rekindle 
them in the heart, and he again goes forth 
to renew his encounter with the toils and 
troubles of life. 

A woman has it in her power to add 
greatly to a man's respectability in the world, 
and to determine his social position. In- 
deed his pleasant relations with society depend 
mainly on her wisdom, her prudence, her kind 
and conciliatory manners. She csnnot make 
herself odious and contemptible without re- 
flecting ill will and disgrace upon him. She 
cannot indulge in a meddlesome, censorious, 
bitter, vindictive disposition, without subjecting 
him to continual mortification, and involving 
him in perpetual difficulty and embarrassment. 

We come in the next place to speak of 
woman in the most important and responsible 
relation which she sustains, as the mother. 
In this relation Providence fully makes up to 
her the inferiority of her physical powers, the 



narrowness of her sphere of action, and the 
alleged inferiority of her intellectual endow- 
ments. In the influence she has in forming 
the character of the young, and training up 
each rising generation as it comes forward, 
and assumes the control of the destinies of the 
world, she has her full share in that power 
which sways and governs mankind, which 
makes nations, families, individuals great, pros- 
perous, virtuous, happy, — or mean, degraded, 
vicious and wretched. Woman is mistress of 
the fortunes of the world, by holding in her 
plastic hand the minds and hearts of those 
who are to mould the comino- afje, at that 
decisive period when the character is deter- 
mined and fixed in good, or irrecoverably 
bent on vice and mischief. She governs the 
world in the capacity of mother, because in 
the forming period of life, the cords of love 
and gentleness are stronger and more prevail- 
inor than all the chains which mere force has 
ever forged. She sways the world, because 
her influence is on the whole paramount in 
the primary element of all society, the do- 
mestic circle. Men go forth to act their parts 
on t!ie great stage of life, the most gifted 
to exert vast influence over its affairs, but it 


is only to act out the character that has 
been formed at home. Woman then, whose 
control over the character is almost absolute, 
presides at the very fountain head of power. 
"What is wanting," said Napoleon one day 
to Mad. Campan, " in order that the youth 
of France may be well educated?" ''Good 
mothers," was her reply. There could not 
have been more wisdom condensed into so 
few words. The greatest treasure a nation 
can possess is orood mothers. Their afiforeofate 
influence is greater than all the rest which 
operate to form the character of a people. 
Man's task is abroad. He must elaborate his 
sustenance from the soil, under the heats and 
the rains of heaven, or tempt the waves of 
the boisterous ocean, or wind the labyrinths 
of trade, or seclude himself in the retirement 
of his study. He cannot know much of his 
children in their earlier years. The respon- 
sibility, of course, is thrown almost entirely 
on the mother. If she abandons her trust, 
then are the children lost indeed. While the 
father is consuming his days and nights in 
toil, that his children may begin life on the 
vantage ground of wealth and education, his 
children, through the negligence or bad man- 



agement of the mother, may be forming moral 
habits which will make every care for their 
fortunes worse than thrown away. The mother 
has it in her power to form the moral senti- 
ments of her children, and thus to make them 
either the ornaments or the scourges of society. 
Unless she co-operates, all that is done by 
others is to no purpose. The father may hire 
instructors for his children, but if the mother, 
instead of aiding them in their tasks, and 
exacting a scrupulous attention to their studies, 
is indifferent or negligent, his money is in a 
great measure thrown away. It is in vnin 
that the father tries to keep them out of bad 
company, if as soon as he is out of the \\ay, 
the mother listens to their tears and entreaties, 
and suffers them to go where they please. It 
is in vain that he would train them to energy, 
industry and self-denial, if she persists in in- 
dulging them in idleness, sloth, and effeminacy. 
And if, through a weak fondness and want 
of decision, she supplies them with money 
against their father's wishes, their ruin is 
sealed. Nothing more is wanted to make 
them profligates and vagabonds. 

One of the strongest evidences of the 
goodness of the Author of our beinty is the 


guardianship he has prepared for us in a 
mother's heart. There could no other bond 
be given so strong of our well being. No 
where could our young and helpless existence 
nestle so safely as upon a mother's breast. 
The first we know of life is that we are watched 
over by the most untiring and sleepless care. 
The cradle nook from which we first look 
forth upon the world, has been prepared for 
us by the most disinterested affection. The 
first tones to which we listen are those of 
unutterable love. Thus provision has been 
made, that the heart should receive the earliest 
culture. The affections are exercised before 
the understanding is at all developed. The 
anorel of praver hovers over its slumbers before 
one temptation has been permitted to approach. 
What deep and infinite emotions rush through 
the heart at the sight of sleeping infancy ! 
What a shrine of tenderness ! What a pro- 
phecy of the future! What a symbol of hope! 
What a crowd of anticipations cluster around 
the young heir of the world! What a vision 
of joys and sorrows rises up before the mind 
as it penetrates the dim vista of coming years, 
which wait to receive this inheritor of the lot 
of humanity ! Those little hands, how elo- 

10* ^ 


quently do they gesticulate in their ceaseless 
graspings, the old and irrevocable sentence of 
toil ! On that miniature brow, Thought and 
Care already perch beside the Majesty of 
Reason. In that bosom the lion and the 
lamb are still slumberinir together in utter 
unconsciousness. Those alternate smiles and 
tears, how emblematic of the storms and sun- 
shine of coming life I That feeble wail, how 
does it chime in with the undertone of sadness 
which is heard in all the music of this life. 
Those little feet, what path shall they tread, — 
where shall they wander, and where shall they 
find their final rest ? 

Such are the thoughts, which must often 
pass through the mind of a mother. Such 
are the musings to which she must be often 
led when she watches in solitude over the 
child of her hopes and affections. But let 
her know, while these thousand conflicting 
emotions are afjitatinor her bosom, that it de- 
pends on her more than any other human 
being to say, whether her hopes or her fears 
shall be realized. 

Among the thoughts, which send a pang 
into a mother's heart, as she gazes upon her 
babe, is the slender hold by which she pos- 


^sesses her precious treasure. She knoAvs that 
one half of these beautiful buds wither and 

I fall before they come to maturity. She feels 
that her watching and toils may all be in vain. 
But not in vain, another instinct assures her. 
There is an instinct within her, deeper and 
surer than any written revelation, that not one 
of these little ones is forgotten before God. 
She feels, that if the child of her affections is 
early torn from her embrace, it is only to 
be laid in the bosom of Infinite Love. She 
reasons, that if God provided such a circle 
of warm hearts to receive it at its advent 
into this world, merely because it is the 
creature of his forming hand, much more 
should he prepare a ministry of kind affec- 
tions to welcome it into that world, where it 
has already a representing angel before the 
throne of God. 

The impress of our heavenly origin and 
destination is brightest and freshest upon us 
in our earliest years. A beautiful child or 
infant seems more like a celestial inhabitant 
lent to us for a while, than one of the creatures 
■of this earth, which sin soon tarnishes, and 
suffering disfigures. As a living poet has well 
described our natural feelinors with resfard to 


the connection of the young with an invisible 
world : 

*' Our birlh is but a sleep and a forgetting : 

The Soul that rises with us, our lifers Star, 
Hath had elsewhere its setting, 
And coraeth from afar: 

Not in entire forgetfulness. 
And not in utter nakedness, 
But trailing clouds of glory do we come 
From God, who is our home : 

Heaven lies about us in our infancy! 
Shades of the prison-house begin to close 

Upon the growing Boy, 
But He beliolds the light, and whence it flows. 

He sees it in his joy ; 
The Youth, who daily farther from the East 
Must travel, still is Nature*s Priest, 
And by tlie vision splendid 
Is on his way attended ; 
At length the Man perceives it die away, 
And fade into the light of common day." 

No luimaK being has so much power to 
preserve this primeval image of heaven in the 
soul as the mother. Peculiarly susceptible of 
religious emotion herself, she can communicate 
it more effectually than any other instructer. 
The lessons she teaches are never forgotten. 
They will recur with the softened image of 


her memory to remotest years. The prayers, 
tliat arc said around her knees, will be in- 
stinctively murmured by the lips of extreme 

It is in her power to fill their minds with 
every honorable and noble sentiment, to estab- 
lish in them a stern reirard for truth, and 
justice, and inteirrity. This, it is true, can 
be done in no other way than by cherishing 
those principles herself. As far as my own 
experience goes, I can say that the mother's 
influence is paramount and irresistible. So 
accustomed am I to trace home to its source 
the moral character I see developed by my 
acquaintance, that whore I see honor, deli- 
cacy, integrity, humanity, exhibited in an un- 
common degree, I say to myself, " That man 
had a good mother," and on inquiry T find 
myself not often mistaken. The sympathy of 
childhood is so strong with the bosom from 
which it first drew its life, that every feeling 
and sentiment of the mother vibrates through 
its whole being. The mother, if she pleases, 
may form in lior children the habit of candor, 
charity, and fairness, or she may fill them 
with the most bitter and unrelenting prejudices 
against any class of persons, whom she may 


choose to represent in an odious light. Nay, 
the very epithets she uses will be for many 
years decisive of the feelings of her children 
with regard to individuals, and even masses 
of society. Such is the weakness of human 
nature, that we are all educated with a greater 
or less amount of prejudices, and one of the 
hardest tasks of life is to unlearn the pre- 
possessions of the cradle, and to appreciate 
with fairness those whom we were early taught 
to despise or to detest. It follows of course 
then, that every moral obliquity of the mother 
is almost sure to be reflected in the character 
of the children. If she begins with a course 
of finesse and deceit, it will not be long 
before she will find them as expert as herself, 
and she will probably be the first person upon 
whom they will make their experiments. 

The motives, which operate upon the mother 
to induce her to fidelity, are stronger than 
are presented to any moral agent in this 
world, for to none is this world a scene of 
juster retribution. If she be faithful to her 
trust, her sons grow up to honor and success. 
As she sees them mount up to the high 
places of wealth or station, or moving in an 
humbler sphere in peace and prosperity, with 


a proud satisfaction she may point to them 
and say with the Roman matron, " These are 
my jewels." The very virtues she has cher- 
ished in their hearts secure to her that re- 
spectful and affectionate attention, which is so 
soothing to the decline of life, and prepare 
her to leave the world with the satisfactory 
reflection, that she has not lived in vain. 
She will see her dauorhters adorninor whatever 
sphere they are called to fill. In the irood 
wife and mother she will see the fruit of 
that domestic training which she so anxiously 
gave them, and in their appreciation in so- 
ciety the influence of those talents which she 
cultivated ; and in the unfeigned piety of sons 
and daughters the reward of her prayers and 
instructions, and the pledge that she shall at 
length present herself and them faultless and 
unblemished before the throne of God with 
exceeding joy. 

But if she be unfaithful to her trust, if she 
choose to turn her children over to nurses 
and governesses, that she may give herself up 
to fashion and frivolity, if by a foolish indul- 
gence she train them up to idleness and 
efl*eminacy, or suflfer them to mingle with the 
j dissolute and unprincipled, she will be the 


first to suffer. Her heart will be pierced 
through with sorrows that the world knows 
not of. Her days will be passed in heavi- 
ness, and her nights in tears, and feeling 
existence blifrhted in its hicrhest ends, she 
will be tempted to curse the day of her birth. 
There is another class of females which is 
too numerous to pass over in silence, whose 
relations to society are not so complex, yet 
still most interesting and important, those 
who have declined to identify their lot with 
one of the opposite sex. There is a tone of 
ridicule adopted by the world when speaking 
of this most respectable and deserving class 
of persons, which I must confess always 
grates upon my ear as unfeeling and unjust. 
If the history of the human heart could be 
told, it would be found that they arc oftener | 
the victims of society than the recusants of 
the primary institution of God. They have 
been doomed to the evil or the good of a 
single life by domestic tyranny, or family 
pride, by the treachery of their own sex, or 
the unworthiness or falsehood of the other. 
But whatever may be the human agency by 
which their condition has been determined, 
they seem to constitute in the designs of 


Providence a sort of corps de reserve. As no 
wise general brinsfs all his forces into the 
field at once, but keeps back a part to supply 
deficiencies, to remedy accidents, to throw in 
their aid at emergencies ; so are unmarried 
women stationed up and down in life to aid 
the weak, to take the places of those who 
are cloven down in battle, or of those who 
refuse to do their duty. So far from meriting 
the reproaches of the married portion of man- 
kind, they have their full share of the labors 
of life with fewer of its rewards. So far 
from being drones in the hive, their lives 
are especially set apart to good works. Being 
less closely connected with the world, their 
labors are more disinterested. Is any one in 
trouble, the resort is immediately to them. 
They are in fact the sisters of charity to the 
whole species. While the thoughts of others 
are shut up in themselves and their families, 
theirs go abroad to seek out the helpless and 
unfortunate ; and the destitute and forgotten 
find in them an advocate and a friend when 
otherwise there would be none to care for 
their relief. It will be found that amonar 
them all benevolent enterprises find their most 
efficient support. And when the young, the 



gay, and the prosperous are pursuing their 
pleasures, are glittering in splended halls, or 
treading the mazes of the dance, these faith- 
ful souls are toilini; over those household 
duties which the gay and thoughtless have 
forgotten, or are watching by the bed side 
of pain and death. 

If they refused to form the closer tie in 
life with the design of keeping aloof fi-om all 
attachments and cares, they find themselves 
mistaken. They have women's hearts, and it 
is impossible for them to shut up their affec- 
tions. The sister soon becomes the aunt, and 
the mother's feelings become developed with- 
out the mother's relation. She finds herself 
agitated with all the anxieties, the hopes and 
fears of a mother, and she is prompted to a 
mother's toils and self sacrifice without the 
certainty of meeting that return of gratitude 
and affection which instinct vindicates to the 
nearer relation. In the meantime the very fact 
of her having no especial protector subjects 
her to neglect and to injustice from which 
the matron is exempt. For there are too 
many mean spirits in this world, who want 
no other temptation to commit an injury than 
the assurance that they may do so with 


impunity. The danger then, to which the 
single woman is exposed, is of becoming 
soured with the world, from which she certainly 
receives much that is not calculated to elevate 
it in her conceptions. Her peril is that of 
becoming peevish, querulous, and bitter, of 
visiting upon all the ill treatment she receives 
from a few. Her triumph is to maintain 
under all circumstances serenity, candor, gen- 
erosity, and magnanimity. Her reward is to 
find sufficient happiness and gratification in 
doing good for its own sake, in proving 
superior to all the vexations she suffers from 
the mean, the heartless, and the base. 

While we are contemplating the sphere and 
duties of woman, she presents herself in one 
more relation, and that the most affectinsf of 
all, the condition of the widow. That tie so 
tender and so close, the source of so much 
happiness, and which revolving years serve 
only more and more to endear, confers no 
exemption from the great law of mortality, 
and is liable to be terminated by death. 
Then indeed do we see joy turned into 
mourning. There we see a broken heart, — 
smitten to the earth by the most mysterious 
of all Heaven's dispensations. Her heart's 


idol is gone, and what does the world contain 
beside ? Her companion is taken away, and 
her house is left unto her desolate. The arm 
on which she leaned is withdrawn, and she 
must finish the journey of life alone. The 
heart that beat for her is for ever still. The 
mind, whose every thought was care for her, 
has departed to the spirit land. The presence, 
in which alone it was life for her to live, is 
no more found on earth, and how could she 
ever dare to hope again, were there not One 
above, who has called himself the widow's 
God ? 

For a while she is utterly overwhelmed. 
The world is shrouded in a universal pall. It 
no lonofer seems to contain any thincr worth 
livinof for. She is awakened at last from the 
stupor of grief by the reflection that this 
world, if it can be no longer enjoyed, must 
still be endured. She is still further roused 
by the fact, that she must not only suffer, but 
act. She finds a melancholy refuge in the 
thouijht, that if she can no lonofer live for 
herself, she can and must live for her children. 
Renouncing then, all those wide and bound- 
less expectations of happiness, in which the 
imagination loves to revel, she contracts her 


hopes to the successful care of the fatherless. 
In this hope and employment she finds tran- 
quillity and a measure of enjoyment. Her 
character and talents are drawn upon for their 
last resources, and it is surprising how often 
they are found equal to the emergency. 
Women brought up in tenderness and luxury, 
without the knowledge or the tact for business, 
are found, when compelled by necessity to 
make exertions, to manage their affairs with 
skill and ability. If there be in them any 
materials of character, thev are now brouorht 
out and consolidated. The stern realities of 
life put to flight its phantasies and its follies, 
and impart to it that measure of wisdom and 
strength which it is capable of receiving. 

Her children, if any she have, are at first 
the source of indescribable anxiety. She is 
tempted by the difficulties of her situation, and 
the dark-bodinor fancies of future ill which 
gather into her anticipations of coming years, 
to wish that she had never been a mother. 
But Providence knew better what was for 
her good. Those children, which are now the 
objects of so much solicitude, become to her 
the greatest blessings^. They are the only tie 
which connects her with the world. God is 



the God of the fatherless as well as of the 
widow. The more straitened their circum- 
stances the more propitious to the formation 
of character. The necessity of early exertion 
and self-dependence is the best possible dis- 
cipline to character and talent. Indeed there 
is nothing else which can give the mind a 
perfect training to all excellence. Nothing 
but this can form the habits to that industry, 
frugality, sobriety and perseverance, which are 
the only sure foundation for permanent pros- 
perity. In short, such a beginning of life 
trains up just such men as the world wants, 
as it will employ and reward. And thus it 
is that the world is in perpetual revolution. 
While the sons of the wealthy by idleness, 
or folly, or want of business talent, dissipate 
their hereditary estates, and fall from the high 
places of society, the sons of the widow find 
their way into the places of business, the 
stations of honor, the offices of trust and 
power. And the widow who sent her chil- 
dren forth into the world from the abode of 
poverty, often passes the evening of her days 
with them in affluence and splendor. 

Such is the lot of woman, a mingled scene 
of joys and sorrows, smiles and tears. It 


might fill the heart with an infinite sadness, 
were it not that it is a sliofht exaoporeration 
only of the common lot of humanity, and 
were we not assured that woman's peculiar 
constitution exactly fits her for her sphere. 
In her deeper aflfections, in her more lively 
imagination, in her profounder trustfulness she 
finds a compensation for all. And when to 
human eve the blackest niofht has settled 
about her, the star of religious faith rises to 
dissipate the gloom. It sheds upon her path 
its calm, benignant beam, till the morning 
breaks which ushers in eternal day. 




AVING taken a general view 
of the sphere and duties of 
woman, we are the better pre- 
pared to decide what is that 
training which will best fit 
her for them. That is the 
question which we propose in 
the present lecture to discuss, 
how is woman to be educated 
to be useful, agreeable, and 
happy ? It is a question of 
transcendent importance, for a 
new generation is continually 
coming forward, and receiving 
that culture, which will make them the orna- 
ments of society, the delight of the domestic 
circle, the innocent and happy participants' 
of the pleasures of this life, or useless 
cumberers of the ground, unhappy in them- 
selves, and the cause of misery to others. 


A great change has undoubtedly taken place 
in public sentiment upon this subject within 
the last half century. Then it was thought 
sufficient to give to women a merely useful 
education, to teach them the plain household 
duties, how to cook, and make, and mend, 
how to conduct with prudence and economy 
their domestic affairs. The libraries, to which 
it was thought necessary that they should 
have access, were very small. Mrs. Glass' Art 
of Cooking made plain and easy. Pilgrim's 
Progress, and the seven tedious volumes of 
Sir Charles Grandison, were too often the 
literary apparatus, by which our grandmothers 
were to be made good wives, fine ladies, and 
pious Christians. Then there succeeded a 
rage for accomplishments. To sing, to play, 
and speak French, these were the essentials 
of a good education. It v/as found however, 
that singing and playing were soon given 
over, and like the sinofinor of certain insects 
it made no provision for the winter of age, 
and it was discovered that it was quite as 
agreeable to talk folly in English as French, 
and a great deal less trouble. Then came the 
fashion for graver studies, Mathematics, the 
Ancient Languages, Logic and Metaphysics. 


Thus opinions upon female education have 
completed the cycle, and undergone a complete 
revolution. They have been useful, inasmuch 
as they have exhibited the different aspects of 
an important subject. They were each imper- 
fect, not because they were untrue, but be- 
cause they did not present the whole truth. 
That education is good, not which holds to 
the one and despises the other, but that which 
embraces them all. Each of them looks to 
a different relation in which M'oman is placed, 
one to making her useful in the narrowest 
utilitarian sense, another to making her agree- 
able, and the third would give her resources 
of happiness within herself The woman who 
has received a proportionate culture in each 
of these departments is educated, is made as 
perfect as she is capable of becoming. 

I place the education to domestic duties 
first, as essential and indispensable. No wo- 
man' is educated who is not equal to the 
successful management of a family. Although 
it does not require so much talent to rule a 
household as it does to govern a state, still it 
requires talents of the same kind. As he 
makes the best general who has begun at the 
lowest post, and passed up through every grade 


of office, as he makes the best admiral who 
entered the navy in the most inferior station, 
because they and they alone are acquainted 
with the whole compass of a subaltern's duty, 
so that woman will manage a family with 
the greatest ease and efficiency, who knows 
experimentally the duties of every member of 
it. Daughters who neglect this part of edu- 
cation are entirely without excuse, and their 
mothers are still more to blame. The very 
apology, which is often made for the neglect 
of it, is the greatest condemnation of those 
who offer it. It is said by those who . are 
growing up in ignorance of these things; 
" Any one can learn how to keep house 
when it is necessary. Any one, who loves 
her husband, and is devoted to his interests, 
will make herself accomplished in those things 
as soon as she is married." I confess that 
such reasoning as this fills me with astonish- 
ment. As well might the young man say ; 
" Of what use is it for me to learn a pro- 
fession, or make myself acquainted with the 
details of any business. When I am married, 
if I love my wife, it will then be time enough 
to learn a profession, or to accomplish myself 
in the details of business." Would there be 


any surer omen of total failure and discom- 
fiture ? It is much more to be feared that a 
total deficiency in their appropriate spheres 
will destroy mutual respect, and finally mutual 
affection, than to be hoped that affection in 
a few weeks will remedy the defects of years. 
A girl should learn to do every thing that 
a woman can ever be called upon to do or 
to oversee. That, which a woman can learn 
to do in a few months under the tuition of 
love, can certainly be learned to much greater 
advantage under the tuition of a mother. If 
it is all so easy to learn, then certainly they 
are utterly inexcusable who neglect it. It is 
no degradation to the finest lady to know all 
the details of domestic aflfairs. It is honorable, 
and ought to be her pride. A woman, though 
she may be as beautiful as the morning, as 
wise as Minerva, and as accomplished as the 
Graces, ought to know all the details of house 
affairs. She ouffht to know how everv thinor 
is preserved and kept in order. She ought 
to know how every thing is cooked that is 
an article of food, how every thing is cut out, 
made and mended, that is worn, and what 
is the ordinary cost and consumption of the 
various articles of domestic use. It will be 


to her neither injury nor degradation if she 
add to these the accomplishments of an able 
accountant and neorotiator. The duties of nurse 
she must learn at some period of her life by 
the stern constraint of necessity, and the 
sooner they are learned the better. 

These are the domestic accomplishments 
which are indispensable to a good wife, and 
it is all a miserable delusion to imagine that 
they can be acquired on occasion. Nothing 
but practice can make us perfect in any thing. 
As these are duties which must inevitably fall 
to the lot of woman, be she high or low, 
rich or poor, she cannot neglect them in 
early life without being false to her most 
important interests. All the experience she 
gets under the instructions of a mother will 
increase her chance of happiness whenever 
she shall be called to preside over a family. 
I counsel every mother and daughter to take 
this matter into serious consideration as vital to 
domestic happiness and permanent prosperity. 
There is nothing more embarrassing than to 
be thrown into a condition, in which we do 
not know how to act, especially when it is 
for the want of that knowledge which we 
are expected to possess. This is precisely the 

12 "= 


practical knowledge which the wife wants 
every day of her life, and without it her life 
cannot be comfortable, or scarcely respectable. 
So vital is this knowledge, that without it the 
day of marriage, instead of the commencement 
of happiness, is the beginning of misery. No 
husband can long respect a wife whom he 
finds destitute of the commonest qualifications 
for her station. No woman can lonsf command 
respect from her household, who hourly dis- 
plays an incapacity for its management. She 
must know enough to govern her subordinates, 
or tliey will govern her. From them she 
cannot hide her deficiencies, and it will not 
be long before they learn to take advantage 
of them. Without that system, which practical 
knowledge alone can brinor about, her house 
will be a scene of waste and disorder, of 
discomfort and insubordination. To a house- 
wife knowledge is power, ignorance is weak- 
ness. To the head of a family knowledge is 
happiness, ignorance is misery. 

I count it therefore a most melancholy 
sight when I see a mother bringing up her 
daughters in utter ignorance of household 
afl*airs, and of course for all the practical 
duties in utter inefliciency. It is as much 


cruelty and injustice as to neglect to have 
them taught to read and write. The effect 
moreover upon the character is bad. It is 
only by action, by responsible action that the 
character can be formed to strength and enerofv. 
There is no other way to inspire confidence 
and courage. It is only by experience of 
the past that we can gain faith for the future. 
That we can perform the duties of to-morrow 
would seem to us utterly incredible, had we 
not performed the duties of yesterday. There 
is scarcely a greater happiness, I will not say 
source of happiness, but rather a greater en- 
joyment, than the sense of power arising 
from havinor done somethinof. The feelino-, 
" I can do this or that, which is necessarv 
to my well being. I am not destitute of 
resource. Place me where you will, and I 
shall know what to do, and how to do it," 
is the source of infinite satisfaction. On the 
contrary, the sense of helplessness and ineffi- 
ciency, arising from never having proved our 
powers, even if we have them, is the source 
of despondency and depression. I therefore 
counsel every young woman, who hears me 
this night, to resolve that whether encouraged 
in it or not, she will know both by theory 


and practice every thing that, can be known 
of domestic affairs. You owe it to yourselves 
and your own happiness. A hfe of energy and 
action is the only life worth living. Woman 
was not made to dream away a sickly exist- 
ence over sentiment, and castle-building, and 
the trifles of the day. She is made for duty, 
for action, for usefulness, and it is only when 
thus employed that she feels her existence 
ennobled and exalted, and her life redeemed 
from utter nothingness and vacuity. 

Then there are even graver considerations, 
which ought to induce you to gain all the 
practical knowledge that comes within your 
reach ^t an early period of life. It is impos- 
sible for you to know before hand how you 
are to spend the three score years and ten 
of life, if you are spared so long. Time 
makes fearful revolutions in the condition of 
mankind, particularly of women. Reverses are 
sufficiently severe when they fall upon the 
strontjer sex. It is difficult for them to bear 
up under their troubles, it is difficult for them 
to provide for their wants on the most limit- 
ed scale. What then is the condition of a 
woman thrown upon her own resources ? I 
would not detail to you, if I had the time, 


what I myself have seen of sad and sudden 
reverse, of unprotected females precipitated in 
a moment from comfortable circumstances to 
abject want; widows accustomed to luxury 
and abundance, suddenly stripped of all, and 
surrounded with young children, asking in vain 
for bread. With the best training, the con- 
dition is a melancholy one. It is alleviated 
and rendered tolerable precisely in proportion 
to the previous development of business habits 
and practical industry. With these, no con- 
dition is desperate. This is a world of labor, 
and it is ordained that those shall prosper 
who are willing to toil. But the willingness 
may exist without the capacity. The very 
habit and faculty of keeping accounts, has 
saved many a woman from want, and been 
the means of training a rising family to use- 
fulness and respectability. From these reverses 
no woman is exempt, the most affluent are 
perhaps most exposed to them. They may 
take place without their fault, or the fault of 
any one with whom they are immediately 
connected. It is fearful to see how soon 
death may place a solitude about a person, 
who is now surrounded by troops of relatives 
and friends. To be convinced what fearful 



changes time brings over the world, we have 
only to look back a few years, and consider 
who were the rich and distinguished, and who 
occupied the most conspicuous places in the 
public view. Where are they now ? The fol- 
lowing years will produce the same changes, 
and who are to be affected by them, it is 
impossible to foresee. 

But death and misfortune are not the only 
causes of the loss of fortune. In cities there 
is another quite as prolific, the misconduct of 
husbands. Young ladies of wealth and ex- 
pectations are ever surrounded by a set of 
young men, whom it is needless to describe, 
without character, talent or business, whose 
whole stock in trade is dandyism, dissipation 
and impudence, and whose whole adventure 
in life is to insinuate themselves into the af- 
fections of some unsuspecting heiress. 

Those who have the misfortune to fall into 
the hands of such a, pirate, are almost sure 
sooner or later to be stripped of all, and 
then perhaps treated with the utmost cruelty 
and neglect. Every young woman, no matter 
how great her expectations or possessions, 
may be destined to meet such a fate as this. 
She will be best prepared for the crisis, who 

li r - 


has the best practical knowledge of affairs, 
of the various cares and duties, which may, 
by any possibility, fall to the lot of woman. 
And I should consider the labor of composing 
these lectures amply repaid if I were per- 
suaxled that they would be the means of 
inducing one young lady to resolve that she 
would thoroughly accomplish herself in all 
household duties. The Jews had a custom, 
which cannot be too much commended, of 
adding" to the most finished education, the 
practical knowledge of some trade, so that 
the great and the noble might have a resource, 
if deprived of their possessions, which would 
prevent their becoming utterly helpless and 
desperate. It was this practice which gave the 
noble Apostle of the Gentiles, high born and 
liberally educated as he was, the glory of 
preaching the Gospel, while with his own 
hands he ministered to his necessities. 

But let it not be supposed from what I 
have now said, that I am a Utilitarian in the 
narrow and bigoted sense of that term, that 
I would exclude the accomplishments, or even 
that I think them of little worth. I would 
have woman agreeable as well as useful. Nay, 
the agreeable is the useful in the highest 


sense. Every thing is useful, which innocently 
ministers to human happiness. Accomplish- 
ments do thus minister to the most blameless 
enjoyment. Let a girl be taught music, and 
dancing, and drawing, if she have a taste for 
it, though of the latter I entertain more doubt. 
Let her have every accomplishment which will 
enable her to adorn, delight and enjoy society. 
I am no enemy to the pleasures of refined 
society. I only oppose its follies and its 
abuses. I am opposed to its abuses for the 
very reason that I esteem and value its uses. 
I look with sorrow on its extravagant expense 
and ridiculously late hours, only because I con- 
sider such perversions as calculated to destroy 
the pleasures and the usefulness of that which 
is in itself good. We are not made only 
to toil. We are made likewise to enjoy its 
rewards. There is a generous impulse to 
impart the avails of our labor to others. We 
are not made for selfish, solitary enjoyment. 
We increase our pleasures by sharing them 
with' others. Society is an instinct. When 
we are happy, we call together our friends 
and neighbors, saying, " Rejoice with us." 
That most exquisite parable of the prodigal 
son, an emanation of celestial power and 



beauty, makes, without blame, that joyful event, 
the return of the lost one, to be celebrated 
with music and dancinor • and even the kinor- 

o ' to 

dom of heaven itself is represented under the 
similitude of a feast. Our Saviour ministered 
by his first miracle to the festivities of a wed- 
dinof, and he did not refuse that mark of 
hospitable respect, a supper, in the family 
which he most loved. The expression of 
social and benevolent feeling, by some em- 
phatic action, is the most effectual way to 
cultivate and strenffthen that feelinor. The 
same feeling of mutual respect, and desire to 
confer pleasure, bids us receive our friends 
with such decorations of the rites of hospi- 
tality as our circumstances can afford. Such 
a use of wealth, so far from being immoral, 
I am , inclined to consider as among the 
noblest and the best. If any one is disposed 
to object, "Why this waste, why were not 
these tilings sold, and the money given to 
the poor," he must remember that this objec- 
tion is taken from the m(!)uth of Judas Iscariot. 
We have higher authority for saying, that the 
expense is not thrown away which expresses 
generous and noble sentiments. The pleasures 
of society and hospitality are the just and 


proper rewards of those who toil. Every 
generation has a right to spend its own money, 
and is by no means bound to deny itself that 
the next may live in idleness. 

Society, when enjoyed in moderation, is the 
natural and innocent means of refreshing the 
spirits after the exhaustion of labor and care. 
To the pleasures of society they can best con- 
tribute who still enjoy the rich endowments of 
youth, health, beauty, grace and vivacity. We 
would not have them prematurely old. They 
are what they are, beautiful, joyous, graceful, 
for the very purpose of enlivening this sad 
and sombre world, just as childhood is made 
with an exuberance of animal spirits, that by 
its noisy sports and shouts of gladness, it may 
drive away gloom from that apartment where 
sits age in silence and despondence. Let 
woman then be so educated as to enjoy to 
the utmost those pleasures which are appro- 
priate to youth, before the evil days come, 
and the years draw nigh, when she shall say, 
"I have no pleasure in them." 

Mu^ic is certainly one of the most blameless 
and refined of all enjoyments. It seems to 
be just so much innocent pleasure created out 
of nothing. It is as it were a voice from the 


Universal Harmony, speaking to us from the 
invisible world. Like Poetry, it is certainly in 
alliance with the better part of our nature. 
The ancient fable that Orpheus tamed and 
drew after him the wild beasts of the wood 
by the strains of his lyre, is nothing more 
than a symbolical representation of the fact, 
that when the spell of Music is upon us, the 
bad passions are hushed in profound repose, 
and the ^ood affections awake and entrance 
the soul with visions of whatever of good, and 
great, and tender, and beautiful we have ever 
experienced or imagined. Then pass before 
us, with the distinctness and reality of a dream, 
the long lost scenes of youth and home. Then 
forms and faces reappear that have long since 
been hid in darkness, and eyes beam upon us 
with more than living tenderness and intelli- 
gence, which now are quenched in death. 
The soul for a moment is freed from the 
dominion of what is most painful and depress- 
ing in our condition, and revels in all the joys 
of the past, the present, and the future. Sick- 
ness forgets its pains, sorrow suspends its sigh, 
age loses the consciousness of wrinkles and 
gray hairs, the exile is restored to his native 
shores, and the soul, freed in some measure 


from the environments of time and space, 
catches gUmpses, more perfect, perhaps, than 
at any other time of that state which the 
poet has so eloquently described; 

"When coldness wraps this suffering clay. 

Ah! whither strays the immortal mind? 
It cannot die, it cannot stay. 

But leaves its darkened dust behind. 
Then, unembodied, doih it trace 

By steps each planet's heavenly way? 
Or fill at once the realms of space, 

A thing of eyes, that all survey? 

"Eternal, boundless, undecay'd, 

A thought unseen, but seeing all. 
All, all in earth, or skies displayed. 

Shall it survey, shall it recall : 
Each fainter trace that memory holds 

So darkly of departed years. 
In one broad glance the soul beholds. 

And all, that was, at once appears." 

Let the daughter be instructed in music if 
she have the talent for it. Nothing more en- 
livens and adorns the domestic circle. Nothing 
furnishes a more innocent and refreshing recre- 
ation for family and social gatherings, which 
are the best preservatives against the tempta- 



tions that are every where laid in the way 
of the young. : 

But the day for accomplishments is brief 
and soon passes away. The time soon comes 
when the exercise of the accomplishments 
becomes both tasteless and inappropriate. The 
bloom of youth no longer sits upon the cheek, 
and grace and symmetry have departed from 
the form and motions. With those attractions 
a measure of that attention, which they once 
commanded, begins to fall off. How desolate 
the condition of that woman who has culti- 
vated nothing else ! Then appears the necessity 
of the third branch of female education, which 
I intend in what remains of this lecture strongly 
to urge upon your attention, the cultivation 
of the mind. To this a woman is bound by 
a regard for her own happiness. The day 
must come when she will be thrown upon 
her own resources. Those resources must exist 
mainly in her own mind. If she seeks society 
after the day of accomplishments is over, her 
pleasures must then be intellectual, and her 
attractions too. The beauties of a well stored 
mind will still draw around her a circle of 
eager listeners, when the charms of her person 
are sfone. A sensible and brilliant conversation 



will attract the notice of the well educated 
of the other sex more than a coronet of 
jewels. At home, where most of her time 
must be passed, many an hour will hang 
heavily if its vacuity be not supplied by books. 
Books will afford no effectual aid, unless a 
taste for them has been early cultivated. What 
is a woman to do with herself at home or 
abroad, whose education has fitted her only 
for the enjoyment of the bloom of life ? Her 
heart and soul are still in scenes and occu- 
pations which are appropriate only to the 
younir, and her employment too often becomes 
the retail of the merest trifles of the time. 
Without the stores of knowledge and of 
thought she is overtaken by the shadows of 
the evening of life without that dignity which 
is the proper ornament of age. Habits of 
intellectual culture it is then too late to 
acquire. It is only early mental discipline 
which can render readinor either agreeable or 
useful in advanced life. The great entertain- 
ments of all ages are reading, conversation, 
and thought. If our existence, especially after 
middle life, is not enriched by these, it be- 
comes meagre and dull indeed. And these 
will prove sources of pleasure just in proportion 



to previous intellectual culture. How is that 
mind to have subject matter of pleasurable 
thought during its solitary hours, which has 
no knowledge of the treasures of literature and 
science, which has made no extensive acquaint- 
ance with the distant and the past? And 
what is conversation between those who know 
nothinor ? But on the other hand what delight 
is that mind enabled to receive and impart, 
which is able to discuss any topic that comes 
up with accuracy, copiousness, eloquence, and 
beauty ! The woman, who possesses this 
power, can never fail to render herself agree- 
able and useful in any circle into which she 
may be thrown, and when she is so she can- 
not fail to be happy. A full mind, a large 
heart, and an eloquent tongue are among the 
most precious of human things. The young 
forsake their sports and gather round, the old 
draw nigh to hear, and all involuntarily bow 
down to the supremacy of mind. These en- 
dowments add brilliancy to youth and beauty, 
and when all other charms are departed they 
make old age sacred, venerable, beloved. 

I never read that heartless jest of Pope 
without a species of indignation. 

" Most women have no characters at all." 


If it were a fact, which it is not, who is to 
blame for it? In nine cases out of ten, those 
who have withheld from them a proper and 
sufficient education. Knowledcre and enlicrht- 
ened culture are the only basis of character. 
The mind can wax strong only by exercise. 
Withhold from the mind intellectual discipline, 
books and intelligent society, and fill it with 
a succession of trifles, and how can it be 
otherwise than empty and frivolous ? To the 
cultivated and uncultivated mind the oppor- 
tunities of observation, which intercourse with i 
\ the world affords, are a totally different thing, j 
Intellectual culture gives a keener and deeper 
insight to the mental vision, and confers the 
power of reading at a glance, what the uncul- 
tivated spell out only by syllables and never 
thorouifhlv understand. Decision and strencrth 
of character can rest on no other legitimate 
basis than that of a well informed mind. How 
can a woman have character without culture? 
Decision without knowledore is rashness and 
presumption, firmness not grounded on suffi- 
cient reason is nothinof but obstinacy and 

The world is ever complaining that women 
are led awav bv every new infatuation that 


comes along to dazzle and delude. But such 
complaints are altogether unreasonable until 
women are educated to that discipline of mind 
and extent of knowledge, which will enable 
them to detect imposture and explode preten- 
sion the moment they appear. 

Thorou2:h and general education of women 
brings with it a remedy for that reproach 
which is so often brought against learned 
ladies, that they are apt to be conceited and 
pedantic. If thorough female education were 
more common, it would cease to be a matter 
of distinction, and of course a matter of vanity. 
Besides, pedantry in man or woman is not 
the sign of a perfect education, but the sure 
evidence of a defective one. Perfect manners 
are displayed in entire simplicity. Form and 
pomp are the unfailing indication of defective 
breeding and bad taste. The truly learned and 
well educated man is the last to make any 
parade of his erudition. He is always unpre- 
tending, and instead of loading his speech 
with long and hard words, he shows his 
scholarship by the perfect accuracy, good sense, 
and taste with which he converses about the 
most common things. So the thoroughly edu- 
cated woman never tells you that she has 



Studied Homer and read Faust, that she has 
made herself acquainted with the mysteries of 
Algebra and Conic Sections, or labors by any 
indirection to lead you to infer that she has 
done so ; but she gives you higher proof of 
her careful training, by the correctness, the 
eleoance, and the knowledtje with which she 
discusses every subject as it comes up. Let 
no young lady be deterred from literary pur- 
suits by the senseless outcry which is some- 
times raised against learned women, or the 
odious epithets which are applied to them by 
the weak and the empty of the other sex. 
Such reproaches are usually the resort of little 
minds to keep themselves in countenance in 
the want of those mental accomplishments, 
which it is a disgrace to them not to possess. 
The fear, which such men express of superior 
women, is by no means feigned ; and as fear 
is always ungenerous, they attempt to wound 
at a distance that force, which they dare not 
openly encounter. Let no sensible and strong 
minded woman apprehend that she will hjse 
any thing worth retaining by a high literary and 
intellectual culture. She may be passed by 
the shallow and the superficial, but it will be 
only to attract the sensible and the well in- 


formed. If others keep aloof, she may console 
herself with the reflection that it is because 
they have nothing to say that is worth hearing. 
Let every young woman be assured, that every 
hour she devotes to study in early life will 
increase her future happiness, will add bril- 
liancy to her charms if she have beauty, and 
will make up for its deficiency when it is 
wantinor, will make her welcome and at home 
in all companies, and put her at ease in all 
situations. It will sharpen her powers of ob- 
servation, and enable her to detect and draw 
out talent, which would otherwise have passed 
unnoticed. It will redeem from silence and 
dulness many an hour which otherwise would 
have been a total blank. It will draw atten- 
tion and command respect, amid the wreck of 
all personal charms, and the memory of it will 
confer a kind of sacredness upon the bent 
and feeble form, when mind itself has faded 

There is nothinij more delifjhtful than the 
conversation of a sensible and well educated 
woman. It is a perpetual feast. Her quick 
feelings and lively imagination enable her to 
paint what she has seen and experienced in 
livelier colors and more iilowinof lan^uaofe than 


the duller perceptions and greater reserve of 
the other sex make it possible for them to 
employ. There are lights and shades in human 
things, which would pass altogether unper- 
ceived, were they not reflected from the clear, 
pure mirror of the female mind. The prose 
of this monotonous life becomes poetry in her 
lips, and its dullest scenes are illuminated by 
her fancy, images, and illustrations, just as 
the landscape sparkles in the dew. 

Intellectual cultivation opens to woman an 
unfailing and inexhaustible resource in books, 
in the boundless treasures of literature and 
science, when ill health or domestic cares 
shut her up from the pleasures of general 
society. When storm and winter are raging 
without she can gather around her a more 
select society than any that ever graced a 
nation or an age. She may hold converse 
with the hoary forms of Old Philosophy. The 
historian lays upon her his spell of power, 
and while her senses fall asleep to all sur- 
rounding objects, she finds herself standing 
at his side in the streets of Thebes, or Rome, 
or Athens ; she enters the Capitol or the 

Senate house, and hears the thunders of Ci- 1 

cero, or the rage of Cataline. She sees the ■ 

educatio:n' of wo^tAN. 153 

victorious generals of the Republic returning 
in proud procession from distant lands, lead- 
ing captive the kings, and laden with the 
spoils of conquered nations. She sees her 
terrible armies march forth from her gates, 
Valor in their front, and Victory upon their 
banners, bearing war and subjugation to na- 
tions still more remote. Or at a later, happier 
time, when War had sheathed his sword, and 
the temple of Janus was shut, when the mute 
sentinel was keeping watch upon the borders 
of civilization, from some lofty tower of the 
Imperial City, she looks out upon a slum- 
bering world on that nignt when the angels 
sung in Bethlehem, "Glory to God in the 
highest, peace on earth, and good will among 
men." There is the traveller, ready to trans- 
port her to any quarter of the globe which 
she chooses to visit. With him she may tra- 
verse the sandy deserts of Africa, or plunge 
with the adventurous ship among the eternal ice 
of either pole. With him she may stand upon 
the snowy top of Chimborazo or Mont Blanc, 
or explore the flaming mines of Poland or Peru. 
With him she may sit and muse among the 
ruins of Petra, or frighten the bittern from 
the marshy streets of Babylon the Great. 


By his assistance she may gain almost as 
clear an idea of the Holy Land, as if she 
had actually visited that consecrated soil, 

''O'er whose acres walked those blessed feet. 
Which eighteen hundred years ago were nailed 
For our advantage to the bitter cross." 

The poet is there to wrap her in visions 
of still greater beauty and splendor. It is his 
to create a world such as meets the lon^in^rs 
of the immortal mind, out of whatever is most 
perfect in this, and people it with beings of 
more than mortal loveliness and virtue. No 
sooner does she open the page of IMilton, 
than she glides through the mystic lapse of 
ages, like Uriel upon the sun beam, and 
aliohts amid the silver streams, the coolinor 
shades, the ambrosial airs of Paradise. In its 
sunny skies, its perpetiial bloom, its undis- 
turbed repose, she sees what this world might 
be, were it not marred, and clouded and 
blighted by sin. 

Shakspeare, if possible, touches her with a 
wand of still more potent enchantment. He 
has but to speak, and spirits hover round, 
fillinnr the air with spicy odors and melting 


melodies. He stamps, and the yawning earth 
pours forth her withered witches and her gib- 
bering ghosts. He smites upon the tomb of 
ages, and buried monarchs start to hfe, and 
followed by their trains, come forth to show 
us what they were, and tell us how they lived. 
By his master key are laid open, one after' 
another, the most secret recesses of the human 
heart, and she sees the very springs which 
set in motion the vast machinery of human 
affairs. She sees in their elementary work- 
inofs those fjrand passions which have filled 
the world with action, and history with the 
brightest virtues and the blackest crimes. 

A woman, whom a good education has pro- 
vided with such resources, can never feel the 
oppression of an idle or a solitary hour. Her 
I house will probably be the resort of the cul- 
tivated and refined, and she will thus have 
all that is most valuable in society, without 
its vanities and its toils. In such a home, so 
fitted and formed to dcvelope mind, she needs 
have no anxiety for the education of her 
children. Her conversation, and that of the 
friends whose intimacy she cultivates, will do 
more to educate them, to give them intellec- 
tual tastes and habits than a thousand schools 


and colleges. For after all, the best part of 
education is not the dry knowledge obtained 
from books, and maps, and diagrams, but is 
imparted when teaching and being taught is 
farthes-t from our minds. It is breathed into 
us by the subtile infection of pure aims and 
lofty aspirations. It is imparted by the elec- 
tric communication of riMit feelings and noble 
sentiments. No where can the mind gain 
knowledge so rapidly and so well, as in lis- 
tening to the conversation of the accomplished 
and well informed. In no way can its powers 
be disciplined to strength and acuteness so 
well as by discussion of the most interesting 
subjects of human inquiry with a strong and 
clear intellect, which has already given them 
a thorouorh investicration. 

The best part of education must be received 
at home, the education of the heart, by the 
influence of a sympathy with those we love, 
too delicate to be analyzed or defined. There 
we daily look into the souls of those whom 
nature has taucrht us most to reverence and 
imitate. If there we see, as in a pure mirror 
the images of the noblest virtues, integrity, 
truth, honor, justice, piety to God and kind- 
ness to men, we are more likelv to be trans- 


formed into the same likeness than by any 
amount of eloquence or ingenuity. 

The best part of education is that which 
forms the character and gives us just views of 
human life, — that we are not sent here eagerly 
to grasp at and tenaciously to retain all the 
advantages over our fellow beings that we can 
gain, to take our ease while others toil, to 
seek our own selfish ends regardless of the 
rights and feelings of others ; but with disin- 
terestedness, firmness, patience, and humanity 
to take our share in the good or ill of all. 
It should ever be our motto, 

" Trust no future howe'er pleasant. 
Let the dead past bury its dead. 

Act, act ia the living present. 
Heart within and God o'er head." 




^T THE risk of appearing to 
descend from the weighty 
to the trivial, and from the 
sentimental to the common 
place, I shall address you in 
the present lecture on the 
subject of the preservation 
of health. In my judgment, 
this is a matter not only of 
great personal interest, but 
one which deserves to rank 
among the duties of wo- 
man. The weaker and frail- 
er constitution of woman, 
renders her more liable to 
the loss of health than the stronger sex, and 
the loss of health entails upon her evils, 
which none but those who have suffered that 
misfortune can enumerate or describe. 


- An invalid of either sex cannot be either 
eminently useful or happy, and woman's con- 
scientious and sensitive nature makes her espe- 
cially uncomfortable under a sense of failure in 
duty, or the want of that buoyancy of animal 
spirits which is consequent upon impaired or 
feeble health. It is almost impossible to over- 
estimate the difference in enjoyment or effi- 
ciency between a robust or infirm state of 
the physical system. God intended, doubtless, 
that man should share the pleasures of mere 
physical existence with those inferior creatures, 
upon which he has conferred only an animal 
nature. Their prevailing tranquillity and occa- 
sional exhilaration, demonstrate that to them 
mere physical existence is happiness, and their 
almost uniform health shows us to our shame, 
how much better they care for themselves by 
the promptings of blind instinct alone, than we 
do with all our boasted superiority of reason. 
American women have peculiar need of ad- 
monition upon the subject of health. Foreigners 
tell us, and our own countrymen returning 
from abroad, that when they first land in one 
of our cities, the whole population, and the 
women especially, appear like a nation of in- 
valids. Thin, pale and care-worn, the whole 


people seem to glide about like bloodless 
spectres, just rising from the prostration of a 
universal pestilence, and in continual dread of 
the recurrence of another similar calamity. 
Beauty, they acknowledge they every where 
meet, of the most delicate and intellectual cast, 
but frail and transient as the bloom of spring. 
In Europe the grace of youth is succeeded 
by the full development of mature woman- 
hood, hardly less pleasing and attractive. In- 
stances of early decay are rare. Here, the 
instances are uncommon of any such luxu- 
riant summer of existence, and multitudes find 
an untimely grave without ever knowing the 
blessing of physical strength and energy. 

In all temperate climates, there ought to 
be no symptoms of decline before middle life, 
but here not a few do we see pass the 
meridian before five and twenty, and from 
mere exhaustion, suppose themselves in a few 
years more, wholly unfitted for the pleasures 
of society. Such a state of things is cer- 
tainly unnatural, and ought not so to be. 
What are its causes, and what are the reme- 
dies, if there be any ? 

The evil commences at a very early period, 
and the blame lies partly at the door of a 


previous generation. The foundation is often 
laid in early childhood, of life-long disease, 
discomfort and weakness, by thoughtless pa- 
rental indulcrence. While the constitution is 
yet tender and unconfirmed, simplicity of diet 
is of the last importance. Indeed it is almost 
the sole condition of health and comfort. 
But what do we see ? Parents so infatuated 
as to make the reward of extraordinary merit 
to be the privilege of indulging in the most 
pernicious articles of food. It is made a 
point of etiquette, to give the little nctims, 
when they are too young to take care of 
themselves, and are strayed away from home, 
the greatest quantity and variety of sweet- 
meats, such as full grown people would re- 
fuse, from their apprehension of making them- 
selves sick. At home, they sit at tables 
loaded with every kind of luxury, and are 
permitted to eat freely of all. 

The necessary and inevitable consequence of 
this is, that the digestive organs early become 
disordered, enfeebled, diseased, and when this 
takes place while the constitution is forming, 
there is scarcely any thing more incurable. 
Those organs are the fountain of life, and 
when preserved in perfect health, they give 

~ 14* 


a full and perfect development to the whole 
system. The animal spirits continually over- 
flow in mirth and gladness, the . temper is 
serene, the mind capable of continued appli- 
cation, and the affections seem to embrace 
their natural objects with a greater warmth 
and tenacity. The child which is properly 
cared for, seems to belong to God's joyous 
creation. The glad tones of a group of such 
children, resemble the song of birds, which 
ushers in the morning, and proclaims the 
goodness of the Creator by a spontaneous, 
though irrational hymn of praise. If you see, 
as you often do among them, the pale, the 
sickly, the feeble and the sad, you may in 
nine cases out of ten, set it down to bad 
domestic management, a reckless imprudence 
in diet or hours of rest. 

Boys, whose first years are spent for the 
most part in the open air, overcome in some 
degree these unfavorable influences, but girls 
who are shut up at home for more than half 
the year, are greater sufferers. 

To these years of unpropitious domestic 
influences, succeed those of school life. Six 
hours are passed each day in a close room, in 
which there is but imperfect ventilation, . and 


in which the vital properties of the atmos- 
phere, in the space of half an hour, are al- 
most wholly destroyed. There they sit, usually 
in the most uncomfortable positions, on seats 
without backs, or bending over their tasks in 
such an attitude as to embarrass, if not arrest, 
the vital functions. All this takes place while 
the system is receiving its final and most 
important development. And is it any won- 
der, that the daughters of this land, espe- 
cially those who live in cities where most of 
the families of the more opulent classes are 
educated, come from school the frailest of 
human beings, intellectually cultivated perhaps, 
accomplished if you please, but physically in- 
competent to endure the exposures, the labors, 
the cares and trials, which every human being 
must inevitably pass through. 

After leaving school, the first ordeal to 
which the young woman is subjected, is the 
senseless tyranny of fashion in dress, late 
hours and unseasonable entertainments. Cus- 
tom, perhaps, has commenced its despotism 
years farther back, in condemning the person 
to be reduced to nearly the proportions of 
an insect, by tight lacing, by which the na- 
tural play of all the vital organs is rendered 



physically impossible. The lungs, the heart, 
and the dio^estive organs, can no more act 
their part than the feet when bound in fetters. 
There is in most young women, on coming 
out, as it is called, a strong disposition to run 
into excess. Deliverance from school disci- 
pline and from domestic restraint, is to them, 
for a while, a continual jubilee. Scenes of 
gaiety and pleasure have the charm of novelty. 
The mind and heart are then most susceptible 
of their fascination, and not one young woman 
in a hundred has ever reflected upon the 
laws of health, which are just as inflexible 
and inexorable as the ebbing and flowing of 
the sea. It never occurs to them, that God 
has given to mankind the day for labor and 
the night for repose, that the time taken from 
the usual hours of slumber and devoted to 
exciting amusement, necessarily makes an in- 
road upon the health, let it be spent never 
so agreeably. No indemnification the next 
morning, can obviate the penalty of attempt- 
ing to alter the law of nature, and to change 
night into day and day into night. It does 
not occur to the young and the thoughtless, 
that all such excesses are violations of the 
conditions of health, which are written down 


in the book of retribution, and must be an- 
swered, sooner or later, in diminished strength 
and impaired power of enjoyment. 

Gaiety is usually reserved for the winter, 
as if on purpose to render it the more dan- 
gerous, because then there is the greatest 
difference between the temperature of the in- 
ternal and external atmosphere. Wholly over- 
looking the season of the year, the despotism 
of fashion compels the most delicate female 
to dress for a party of pleasure as lightly as 
if it were midsummer, and makes her willing 
to endure the martyrdom of a night of ex- 
posure to the chilling blasts of January, as 
poorly defended against the weather, as if it 
were amidst the blazing heats of July. As 
if to fill up the measure of imprudence, at 
a late hour at night, or latterly an early hour 
in. the morning, the festivity is interrupted or 
closed with a sumptuous entertainment, made 
up almost exclusively of the most unwhole- 
some articles of food. The taking of food at 
unseasonable hours, is at all times almost an 
unpardonable sin against the laws of health. 
Most of all is it so in the middle of the 
night, a time when the system is usually 
wholly at rest. Nature feels herself outraged, 



and soon begins to manifest her displeasure, 
by giving some note of alarm. Color forsakes 
the cheeks, the lips become livid or white or 
parched. The rotundity of full maturity begins 
to subside. Lassitude succeeds, then the loss 
of a serene and equable temper, then despond- 
ency, and a disgust for the very scenes of 
pleasure which have been lately sought so 
eagerly. Two or three seasons are too often 
enough to exhaust the energies of a system 
which had never been robust, and the young 
woman finds herself in a measure superan- 
nuated on the very threshold of existence. 
There is one point of vital importance, 
upon which the mandates of fashion and the 
laws of health are directly at issue, and that 
is the protection of the feet. Achilles is fa- 
bled in the Grecian mythology to have been 
made invulnerable by being dipped by his 
mother in the Styx. One part only was left 
accessible to the wounds of death, the heel 
by which she held him. One might almost 
imacrine that this fable was intended to warn 
mankind that death most often works its way 
into the human system by finding the feet 
wholly exposed. For six months of the year, 
the earth is always either cold or wet, and 



often both. That cold and dampness are most 
pernicious to the human frame. Those who 
walk or stand upon the cold, wet earth, with 
their feet insufficiently protected, stand or walk 
over their own graves. That chill and damp- 
ness invade the vital powers with a more 
mortal assault than they sustain from any 
other quarter. They search the whole system, 
and if there is any where a predisposition to 
disease they develope and mature it. The 
usual defence which women provide against 
the assaults of this most dangerous of their 
foes, is wholly insufficient, and they are re- 
duced to the necessity, as they suppose, of 
not going abroad at all, or of running a 
perpetual risk of colds, fever and consump- 
tion, in short every malady that flesh is heir 
to, which is consequent upon imprudent ex- 
posure. A sacrifice is to be made, either of 
health, or of what they believe to be come- 
liness and grace, and nine out of ten are 
willing to embrace the former alternative. Is 
it any wonder that so large a proportion of 
American women are on the list of invalids, 
that our weekly bills of mortality are swelled 
by multitudes of the young and beautiful, 
whom their parents have watched over, and 



educated and accomplished, as they hoped, 
to be the solace of their declining years? 

There is a sad history about every one of 
these cases, which it would be profitable to 
have generally known. I myself have seen 
so many that I find no difficulty in imagin- 
ing them all. The daughter grows up amid 
every indulgence which can be lavished upon 
her by parental affection. No sacrifice is too 
great to be made for her education and ac- 
complishment. The time arrives when she is 
to take her place in society. From that 
moment, be she wise or foolish, rich or poor, 
feeble or strong, she is surrendered over to 
the dominion of a code of laws, more minute, 
more arbitrary, more exacting, than those of 
any other tyranny that ever existed upon 
earth. They are administered by a class of 
persons, generally, whose judgments no one 
values, and whose characters no one respects, 
yet who, by their position, connexions and 
exclusive devotion to society, reign absolute 
in a certain sphere of life. 

The young woman is taught to believe that 
her whole success in life depends upon her 
standing well with this clique of empty, brain- 
less and heartless usurpers. She must go 



with the mass, she must not lag behind, but 
rather go before the multitude in adopting the 
most fantastic mode of the day, no matter at 
what sacrifice of health and comfort. The 
whole round of gaiety must be followed up. 
Night after night, week after week, she must 
go through storm and wind and rain, she 
must alternately breathe the hot, dead and 
mephitic atmosphere of theatres and ball 
rooms, and the biting external air at a tem- 
perature perhaps scarcely above zero. 

In a majority of cases the health, sooner or 
later, begins to suffer. If the signal, which 
nature gives of intolerable abuse, were at 
once regarded, there would be a chance of 
escape from impending danger. But there is 
generally a want of frankness in telling the 
worst. Suffering is endured in silence, and 
the most unfavorable symptoms are suppressed. 
Entire frankness would brinop to a close the 
giddy whirl of daily excitement, which habit 
has begun to make necessary to the flow of 
animal spirits, and shut up at home that curi- 
osity which finds its food in the incidents and 
gossip of fashionable society, or, perhaps, subject 
the victim of imprudence to medical treatment, 
so justly revolting to the youthful imagination.. 




But the time at lenorth arrives when con- 
ceahnent is no longer practicable ; the cough, 
or the flushed cheek, or the decaying appetite, 
or the dull and faded eye, awakens the alarm 
of parental watchfulness, and a physician is 
called in, and here opens the first sad scene 
of the life of an invalid. 

In a large proportion of instances, the mis- 
chief is found to have proceeded too far to 
admit of a speedy and effectual remedy. And 
what is worse than all, the physician too 
often finds that there is no strength or stam- 
ina of constitution to react under his reme- 
dies, or to bear any active treatment. What 
vigor there is left, sinks under the means 
which he deems necessary for the eradication 
of disease, and the very weakness which 
induced the accession of the malady, is found 
equally unable to resist the derangement pro- 
duced by medical treatment. Medical skill 
can only assist nature. Medicines have no 
creative or healing power. They only arouse 
or direct the natural functions of the human 
system. But if there is no nature to assist, 
they often aggravate the very evils they are 
intended to cure. And this is the worst evil 
with which the physician has to contend. It 


drives him to act merely on the defensive, 
and adopt a system of palliatives, instead of 
attempting a radical cure. 

The day that makes a person a decided 
invalid, is, next to death, the greatest mis- 
fortune. The necessity of forbearing air and 
exercise, is itself enough to reduce the most 
robust constitution to a state of weakness, 
despondency and decline. The mind suffers 
no less than the body. If it is salutary to 
the body to move abroad and breathe the 
pure air of heaven, so it is no less refreshing 
to the mind to look upon the blue arch of 
heaven, the rich green of the fields, the mant- 
ling foliage of the forest, the calm or spark- 
ling beauty of the running stream, or meditate 
upon the shore of the far rolling ocean. The 
health is really affected by the power of wit- 
nessing with our own eyes what is going on 
in the world, and forgetting our own feelings 
while listening to the affairs, the (Bufferings 
or enjoyments of others. Hence it is much 
easier to preserve health while we have it, 
than to recover it when it is lost. In health, 
the mind and body act and react upon each 
other only for good, in sickness only for 



This leads me to speak of the moral causes 
which affect the health of woman. A state 
of high intellectual culture and social refine- 
ment, is unfavorable to physical health ; at 
least as education is at present conducted. 
Besides the years of youth that must be con- 
sumed in study, which too often amounts to 
a species of imprisonment, refinement is only 
another name for the cultivation of the sen- 
sibilities. Those cultivated sensibilities, while 
they render us capable of a higher order and 
a greater variety of enjoyment, likewise expose 
us proportionably to more multiplied and in- 
tenser sufferings. It is impossible to cultivate 
the taste without rendering us more liable to 
annoyance. The rude collisions of society, 
create a greater disturbance of feeling, as the 
sense of propriety become^ more distinct and 
imperative. Woman is very dependent for her 
daily comfort on the consideration and forbear- 
ance- of ihose with whom her lot is cast. Her 
natural sensibility renders her liable to many 
grievances which make no lasting impression 
upon the rougher sex. It has been said, that 
her life is a series of suppressed emotions. 
How few women there are who are situated 
precisely to their minds, and how little power 



has any woman to change or obviate the 
causes of her annoyance ! Emotion too often 
becomes a pent up fire, the more consuming 
from the impossibiUty of revealing the causes 
of distress. Bereavement, loss of fortune, un- 
kindness of connexions, are liable at any 
moment to inflict an incurable wound upon 
the peace of the possessor of the most 
affluent and happy lot. 

Of all human beings, a woman has the 
most need of robust health, and that firmness 
of nerves which is usually its consequence, 
to meet and overcome the troubles which she 
may be called on at any moment to encoun- 
ter. If there is not this constitutional strength, 
built up and preserved by systematic dis- 
cipline, almost any misfortune may involve 
another, scarcely less than the greatest, the 
loss of health. Where moral causes are at 
work, which are out of the reach of the phy- 
sician to remedy, or perhaps to detect, it is 
in vain that medical aid is called in. The 
physician that is needed is one which can 

"Minister to a mind diseased. 
Pluck from the memory a rooled sorroWj 
Raze out the written troubles of the brain." 




Much of the pity which is expressed by 
what are called the higher classes, for the 
sorrows of the lower, is thrown away. They 
suffer quite as great troubles themselves, 
which their morbid sensibilities, and enfeebled 
constitutions, make them less able to bear. 
Perpetual toil never suffers the nerves of the 
laborious to become unstrung. As soon as 
they lay their heads on their pillows, over- 
powering weariness steeps thfem in sweet 
oblivion of their woes, while the sorrow- 
stricken daughter of luxury and abundance 
watches till the morning star, or tosses on a 
fiery sea of troubles. Thus it is, that gaiety 
and grief, are alike the enemies of woman's 

But we will suppose the young woman to 
have escaped with her life from the dang.ers 
to which she has been exposed by the con- 
finement of school and the follies of what is 
called society ; the next sphere she enters 
is that of the wife and mother. Here the 
necessity of firm health is felt with tenfold 
force. While a woman is a single member 
of a family, the daughter or the sister, the 
social discomfort of ill health, or even the 
sorrow of premature death, is less extensively 


felt. There is the unhappiness of perpetual 
anxiety, a constant drawback upon that cheer- 
fulness and hilarity which ought to animate 
every fireside ; there is watching and nursing, 
and a heavy draught continually made upon 
the affections and the sympathies. The order 
and organization of the family is disturbed, 
but not broken up. 

But the position of the wife and mother is 
wholly different. If she is disabled, every 
thino" ffoes wroncr. Health and enerofv. and 
the power of unwearied supervision, are to 
her indispensable. Her happiness, the pros- 
perity of her husband and family, depend 
upon it. With most young people, the pos- 
sibility of entering upon the married state at 
all, of gratifying those strong affections which 
draw the sexes toofether, of consummatinor 
those long cherished attachments which spring 
up between congenial minds, depends upon 
their ability to live on small means. And 
one of the saddest consequences which is 
seen to follow every advance of luxury and 
extravaorance, is the increasingr number of the 
excellent and cultivated of both sexes, whom 
the arbitrary and tyrannous standard, which 
senseless custom sets up of what constitutes 


a necessary outfit in life, and the expected 
scale of expenditure afterward, have con- 
demned to a single life. This arbitrary des- 
potism alone, in the length and breadth of its 
operation, almost equalizes all conditions, and 
counterbalances the advantages possessed by 
what are called the higher classes of society. 
In the humbler ranks, the affections are set 
free, no stern mandate of pride or ambition 
comes in to chill or freeze their current, or 
sever and disappoint them for ever. There is 
no waiting till the bloom of life is passed, and 
the sensibilities are deadened by unreasonable 
delays. There is no consuming war between 
taste and condition, none of that moral cow- 
ardice, which would sacrifice every thing that 
is most precious in life, to the fantastic fear 
of losinsr caste. 

The demands which are made on the 
energy, the industry, the vigilance and the 
endurance of the wife and mother, are in- 
cessant and increasing. I mean the woman 
of conscience and principle. There are wives 
and mothers, I allow, who are troubled by 
none of these things, who seek their own 
ease and pleasure at any sacrifice ; who give 
their children up, as soon as they are born, 


to the care of nurses and servants, with as 
little compunction as the ostrich abandons 
her offspring to the sands and storms of the 
desert. Such instances, however, of the total 
want of the natural affections, it is to be 
hoped, are rare. The pleadings of a mother's 
heart are generally too strong for the sug- 
gestions of indolence or the cravings of van- 
ity. Utter helplessness makes an appeal that 
cannot be resisted, and mute suffering and 
tears awaken an irresistible compassion. The 
care of children involves the frequent loss of 
rest and sleep, and these are the severest 
draughts upon the constitution. 

Besides, most mothers are early mourners. 
Nearly one half of the children that are born, 
are buried before five years of age. Is this 
the order of nature ? Was this the intention 
of Providence ? Is man, as an animal, worse 
constituted than other and inferior races ? 
Nothing of the kind takes place in any other 
species of the animal kingdom. It is well 
worthy of consideration, if this appalling mor- 
tality be not the consequence of perverted 
and artificial habits of life, by which, in the 
course of generations, the race itself has dete- 
riorated. The human being is subjected to 



all the laws of animal organization. Every 
species of animals can . be improved by care 
and science, and successive generations be 
made to approximate more and more near to 
the perfect type of their kind. If they can 
be improved, they can likewise be suffered to 
degenerate. Cannot the human race deoren- 
erate by the same want of care ? 

There is, however, this difference between 
the two cases. The animals are passive under 
the management of man. Their habits are 
simple and their appetites instinctive. Hurtful 
luxury is to them unknown. In training them 
to physical perfection, man meets with few 
obstacles. With the human being, the case is 
entirely different. Physical perfection must 
cost personal self denial, and if it be at all 
hereditary, the moral force and principle must 
be hereditary too, which is necessary to main- 
tain the integrity of nature. 

Where is one generation, even, to be found, 
who are willing to submit to that care and 
self denial, which are the price that must be 
paid for physical health and perfection ? What 
are all the achievements of civilization, but a 
continual war upon the simplicity of nature ? 
Wealth accumulates, and what is to be doae 



with it ? Much of it will ordinarily go for 
the purchase of luxuries. And what are luxu- 
ries ? The greatest enemies to health. Daily 
temptations to the overindulgence of the ap- 
petites. Is the rich man, whose cellars are 
filled with the choicest wines, and whose 
means can command every day the rarest 
delicacies of the market, to be expected to 
live as simply as the poor man ; will he suffer 
his wines to ripen for another generation, and 
confine himself to a few simple articles of 
food ? What is the use then of being rich ? 
Will a lady, who has servants enough and to 
spare, be found willing to do their work for 
the sake of taking exercise ? Will the lady, 
who keeps a carriage, walk for the sake of 
breathing the external air? Will her house- 
hold, who have nothing in the world to do, 
be up with the dawn, to drink in vitality 
from the freshness of morninor ? Self-indul- 
gence will follow the enjoyment of ample 
means, and self-indulgence must pay the 
penalty of an enfeebled constitution. The 
evil of this would not be so great, if the bad 
consequences were confined to the individual, 
and did not descend to the next generation. 
But such is nature's law, that the constitution 


is in some measure transmitted to the off- 
spring, and those who adopt an enervating 
course of life are charofeable with the miseries 
they entail upon those who come after them. 

To the tender mother and conscientious 
Christian, it must be a matter of abiding sor- 
row, if she has even the suspicion that the 
lives of those who are dear to her, have been 
in any degree shortened by her own want of 
care, her own neglect to secure in early life 
a firm and vigorous constitution, or at least 
to use her utmost endeavors to do so. 

Oh what a difference in a mother's happi- 
ness between the daily sight of a healthful or 
a sickly child ! A blooming, vigorous child, is 
one of the most beautiful, gladdening objects 
that the human eye rests upon, especially 
if it be our own. Its gaiety is contagious, 
its fflee and merriment almost make our 
hearts feel aorain the warm current of youthful 
blood. We learn with it to enjoy the world 
afresh. We sympathize with the delight with 
which the young gaze upon a world to them 
in its prime. The flowers look more beautiful 
when we see them looking upon them with 
ecstasy, and scenes and prospects which have 
lono- become tame and indifferent to us smile 


out once more, when we see them again 
through young eyes and buoyant spirits. 

There is no brighter emblem of hope than 
a vigorous, well developed child. For it we 
anticipate all the possible enjoyments of this 
life. It possesses ihat which is the condition 
of all satisfaction in any thing, a strong phy- 
sical constitution. Tlie abounding goodness 
of the Creator has provided ample stores of 
happiness for every period of human life, from 
infancy to extreme old age, if we are but true 
to ourselves, and obedient to the physical as 
well as the moral laws of our nature. 

Education and enjoyment commence to- 
gether, and are intended to go hand in hand, 
till the soul, having accomplished the purposes 
of its earthly discipline, is prepared for a 
higher scene, and to enter upon a new career 
of progress and improvement. As long as the 
first of blessings, health, is preserved, the 
exercise of the senses is an unceasing source 
of delight. Every morning and every evening 
is a spectacle of grandeur and beauty, which 
art cannot imitate, and beyond which imagi- 
nation cannot go. But to receive the gratefiil 
cheering which morning brings, it is necessary 
that the physical system should be in health. 



The hum of business, the excitement of 
action, are calculated to heighten the plea- 
sures of existence, but there must be firmness 
of nerve to make activity enjoyment. When 
the strength is sunk far below its natural 
level, the busy whirl of life passes over to a 
source of pain and annoyance. There is 
something soothing and tranquillizing in the 
approach of evening, but a slight depression 
of the animal spirits, transforms tranquillity to 

All the impulses of nature are intended by 
God, as they strike upon the senses, to elicit 
the most delicious music. But then the harp 
must be in tune. If its chords are unstrunof 
by ill health, the same external impulses grate 
harsh discord. 

To the sickly child then, what a different 
prospect does life present ! It wants the first 
and most indispensable condition of happiness. 
In it the idea of duty may be early developed, 
and those moral pleasures which spring from 
the discharge of duty, will be accessible ; and 
some of the brightest ornaments of human 
nature have been persons debarred by ill 
health from almost all physical enjoyment. 
And some of the most successful in the va- 


rious walks of business and literature have 
been men who have labored and thought and 
studied merely to divert their consciousness 
from their own sufferings, and who would 
gladly have laid down, at any hour, the bur- 
den of life. 

But is there any mother who can bear the 
thought of her own offspring entering upon 
such a life, and accomplishing such a destiny 
of martyrdom ? If her maternal tenderness 
revolts at the thought, let her beware how she 
trifles with her own health, or by neglect or 
imprudence, produces in herself a feebleness 
which may be hereditary. 

The saddest picture of all, and one which 
ought to be held up to the mental eye of 
every young woman, till she trains herself to 
a discreet and scrupulous care of her health, 
is a young mother passing away to the tomb 
before middle life, leaving her children to the 
tenderness or the neglect of she knows not 
whom. A house left desolate by the death of 
a young mother, is one of the most mel- 
ancholy places which is ever visited by a 
thoughtful mind. It is as if a star had fallen 
from its sphere, and gone out in utter dark- 


To whom could life itself be more valuable, 
interesting or happy for its own sake ? In the 
very relation of wife, entered upon at that 
period when the susceptibilities of enjoyment 
were greatest, and the world had not lost the 
freshness of its early promise, there is enough 
to make existence most precious. The well 
remembered days of youth have not yet re- 
ceded so far into the distance, as to have lost 
their power to soothe and refresh the mind. 
The present is filled with duty and enterprise 
and action. To her life is not a bare thread, 
connecting day with day and hour with hour 
in tasteless monotony. It is strung thick with 
the pearls of domestic, quiet duties, and here 
and there with the precious diamond of a 
noble deed. Who, like the mother, can fill 
the future with bright and budding hopes ? 
Every child which plays at her side, or re- 
poses on her bosom, is an heir of God's 
world, has an inheritance among the bounties 
of his providence, a sphere of honor and hap- 
piness to fill. 

And has not the young mother reasons 
above all others for desiring life ? Shall she 
not wish to see, as well as anticipate the 
development and maturity of her children ? 


Yet how many there are before whose declin- 
ingr strength, all those briorht visions fade 
away, who are destined to feel first the alarai- 
ing possibility, then the fatal certainty, that in 
a few months or years, they must abandon 
the most interesting and responsible position 
that a human being can occupy ! The tender 
tie of mother and children must be severed 
when it is strongest, and most especially the 
source of interest and satisfaction. Her guar- 
dianship is to be withdrawn at the very 
moment when they need it the most. A 
mother's instinctive affection is the only sure 
pledge of fidelity in the training of the young. 
Nothing else can prompt the exertion, nothing 
else can secure the patience, nothmg else 
can keep alive that perpetual watchfulness 
which is indispensable to the welfare and 
safety of the thoughtless, the inexperienced, 
the tempted. 

But the mother and the children are not 
the only ones that suffer. There is another, 
to whom this bereavement may be worse than 
death, the husband and the father. His whole 
happiness has been risked upon a single 
stake, and is suspended upon the frail life 
of one human being. All his plans, all his 



prospects, all his hopes have centred in hen 
Her presence has been the invisible charm 
which has shed light and beauty on all things. 
For her sake labor has been light, and enter- 
prise joyful. Her sympathy has soothed him 
in every trial, and her hearty and disinter- 
ested counsels have often, like a kind of 
inspiration, guided him in his dark and 
doubtful way. Life itself has been more than 
doubled in interest through sympathy with 
keener perceptions and livelier sensibilities. 
When she is gone, half of him is dead, and 
he lives on only a broken and mutilated exist- 
ence. The best, most beautiful and precious 
part of every thing has perished with her. He 
may form new connexions, but the chances 
of happiness are almost infinitely diminished. 
It requires a degree of wisdom, forbearance 
and principle, not often to be found, to make 
the place of step-mother any thing but the 
source of misery, discord and estrangement. 

From all these considerations it follows, 
that there is scarce any place on earth so 
full of anxious forebodings, as the sick room 
of a young mother. 

I have drawn these various pictures in dark 
colors, not darker however than the reality, 


that I may impress the mind of some young 
woman with the importance of taking care of 
her health before it is too late. I am not 
sanofuine of the least measure of success. I 
know the power of fashion, I know the reck- 
lessness and the thoughtlessness of that age 
which I address. I know with what uncon- 
cern the greatest blessings are sacrificed to 
a little present gratification. I know the sen- 
sitiveness to ridicule, which drives the young 
into the most inexcusable imprudence. I ask 
them to pause and consider, if any thing can 
compensate the loss of health, if any situation 
can be imagined in which impaired health is 
not a bar to all enjoyment. That desire to 
please, which is the source of half woman's 
virtues, as well as most of her errors, must 
lead her to desire to prolong her beauty, if 
she have it, or the only substitute that can 
possibly take its place, good health. The 
comeliest of things is a beautiful woman, and 
no woman ever yet believed that she was 
destitute of all the charms which are peculiar 
to her sex. If she have but few, then is 
there the mor€ reason for preserving them 
from decay. 

If she would preserve her health, let her 


learn its unchangeable laws, and govern her- 
self by a few simple, intelligible rules. 

No person can feel well, and enjoy a flow 
of animal spirits, for any considerable time, 
without daily exercise in the open air. No 
woman can preserve her bloom, if she in- 
dulcre in late and irreo^ular hours of amuse- 
ment and rest. No woman can lonof bear 
up against the abuse of indulging a capri- 
cious appetite, and substituting, at ail hours 
of the night and the day, sweetmeats for 
simple and ordinary food. Women will be 
invalids so long as they continue to expose 
their persons in all weathers to the access 
of cold and dampness. Women will continue 
to die in early or middle life, or drag out a 
miserable existence, so long as the ambition 
of being excessively genteel, shall induce 
them to clothe their feet so miserably as to 
court, rather than shun, the approach of 
colds, fevers and consumptions. American 
women will continue to fade early, so long 
as they neglect the subject of health alto- 
gether, and surrender to mere accident one 
of the most important interests of life. 

Finally, let every woman provide herself 
with some useful, dignified, interesting em- 


ployment. By an idle, useless life, the 
physical energies -are as much impaired as 
the temper and the faculties of the mind. 
Idleness must end in despondency and de- 
pression. There is nothing so sustaining to 
the whole being, corporeal and mental, as 
the consciousness of duty, the feeling that life 
is not a mere waste, accomplishing nothing, 
tendinof to nothinor. Nothinor contributes so 
much to that calmness and self-possession, 
which is itself a fountain of health to the ani- 
mal economy, as the well grounded expecta- 
tion of a happy immortality. 




FTER such ample disquisi- 
tion concerning the duties 
of woman, those whom I 
address may now wish to 
hear somethino^ concerninor 
her rights. Accordingly the 
subject of the present lec- 
ture will be the social and 
political rights of woman. 
On this subject it is easy 
to perceive, that it will be 
impossible to enter into any 
abstract argument derived 
from any supposed equality 
or inequality of the sexes, 
as reorards mental or moral endowment. Cer- 
tain it is, that God designed them for spheres 
of action entirely different. Those spheres 
are pointed out and ascertained by nature 


and experience. Each fell into the sphere for 
which it was designed, and not by social com- 
pact, but bj" the indications of nature and the 
constraint of necessity. 

The position of woman is a question of 
expediency, not of abstract, original right. 
The first dictate of natural justice would seem 
to be, that the natural rights of man and 
woman should be equal. But this assertion 
must be received with considerable modifica- 
tion. So it is with the fundamental proposi- 
tion in the declaration of rights in the con- 
stitution of our country; ''All men are born 
free and equal." Still this equality is made 
a subject of restriction, for no one becomes 
a citizen in the fullest sense, no one has the 
riorht of suffracre until he has reached the 
age of twenty-one. All men are not equal 
in the eye of these very laws, which are 
made under that constitution whose funda- 
mental article declares them to be. So, after 
all, under the freest constitution, political 
rights are determined by expediency. Woman 
has a right to precisely that position which 
is most conducive to the welfare of that com- 
munity to which she belongs, and that position 
will be most conducive to her own happiness^. 


In ascertaining that position, we have to 
guide us, the experience of the world for 
the six thousand years of its reqprded exist- 
ence, we have tlie spectacle of the various 
nations of the earth at the present hour. We 
have before us every possible variety of ex- 
periment and the result of each, from the 
condition of Asia, where woman, from time 
immemorial, has been little better than a 
slave, to our own Republic, in which she 
has been elevated to the nearest practicable 
degree of civil and social equality. 

From all those sources of information we 
gather, that woman has a right to claim, or 
it is expedient that she should enjoy, educa- 
tion, personal liberty, equal rights of marriage, 
and the equal distribution and security of 
property. By the enjoyment of these rights, 
woman is placed in her appropriate sphere, 
and then she contributes her full share to 
the happiness, the virtue, the security, the 
welfare of the race. When deprived of any 
of them, the injustice is more than avenged 
by the degradation and wretchedness, which 
that very injustice is sure to occasion to every 
member of society. 

Woman has a right to an equality with 



man in the fundamental relation of marriage. 
It is for the interest and the happiness of 
both parties that it should be so. The best 
security for the reality and genuineness of 
those affections which ought to unite husband 
and wife, is the freedom of their choice, 
and the equality of the contracting parties. 
Freedom and equality give the greatest ten- 
derness and delicacy to the domestic affec- 
tions. Those affections, when left free, tend 
to ennoble both before the formation of the 
marriage tie. That which is voluntary will 
be compassed by other attractions than per- 
sonal charms, and a return of affection will 
be sought, not only by assiduity, but by merit. 
Here then there is an exaltinor influence ex- 
erted upon both sexes from early life, by the 
very prospect of a negotiation in which cha- 
racter will inevitably be taken into account. 
And nothing, perhaps, besides religious mo- 
tives, exercises a more decisive influence over 
both sexes in the forming period of life. 

In countries where woman is a mere slave, 
is sought without affection, and is given 
away from sordid interest, no such influence 
is exerted. Character has nothinor to do with 
the transaction, and therefore character is not 




affected by it for good. A relation entered 
into without affection, and unaccompanied by 
esteem, exerts no ennobling influence upon 
either party ; and beginning neither in affec- 
tion nor esteem, it will prompt to no cultiva- 
tion of either tenderness or merit, by which 
that affection and esteem might be perpetuated 
and secured. 

Such would be the fact in countries where 
the rights of marriage were equal, and every 
man compelled to restrict himself to one wife, 
as well as every woman to one husband. But 
throughout Asia, and the barbarous parts of 
the rest of the world, the social wrong is 
permitted of suffering a man to have more 
wives than one. This completes the degrada- 
tion, first of woman, then, through lier, of 
the whole texture of society, and lays the 
foundation for coarseness of manners, corrup- 
tion of morals, injustice in the laws, despotism 
in government, and a total paralysis of enter- 
prise, industry and improvement. In such a 
state of thinixs, to use the lancjuaore of a sacred 
writer, " The foundations of the world are out 
of joint." Polygamy, at this moment, is the 
grand incubus of the whole continent of Asia. 
It puts an effectual bar to all social progress 




and political reform. As long as it exists, 
men will be tyrants, and women will be slaves. 
The sin is immediately visited upon all, for 
the women have the most important part of 
education in their own hands, and they mould 
each rising generation. Ignorant, and without 
moral education themselves, they are precisely 
fitted to train up each rising generation to a 
moral fitness to inherit the vices and degrada- 
tion of their ancestors. 

It is a remarkable fact, that the Bible, 
originating as it did in Asia, in its first pages 
records its protest against this stupendous 
abuse. It celebrates the first nuptials between 
one man and one woman. It represents one 
man and one woman only to have been first 
created, thus making the law of revelation co- 
incide with the law of nature, since the equality 
of the sexes is kept up in the births of children 
among all nations. Polygamy, though discou- 
raged by the spirit of the Mosaic institutions, 
was too firmly established in the East to be 
rooted out, even among the chosen people of 

What Moses pointed out as the law of 
nature, Christ enacted into a positive law of 
Christianity, and thus laid the foundation of 


the improved condition of woman, and through 
her, of the whole structure of society in modern 
times. This one principle alone is almost 
enough to stamp permanency and universality 
upon the Christian religion, from its immea- 
surable influence upon the moral and physical 
condition of the human race. The permission 
of polygamy, and the low estimate placed by 
Mohammedanism upon woman, is enough to 
disprove its divine original, and forbid its 
becoming the religion of the world. Society 
can never be in a sound or flourishinor con- 
dition, where such principles are held, and 
such practices permitted. Mohammedanism was 
a religion of conquest ; it subsisted and grew 
upon its prey. As soon as that prey is ex- 
hausted, it will die out. Where women are 
slaves, men will never be any thing more 
than sensualists and barbarians. Christianity, 
on the other hand, being based, in this respect, 
on the principles of human nature, and of 
natural justice, has in itself the elements of 
perpetual growth, unlimited development, and 
indefinite duration. 

The Christian idea of the equality of woman 
met with a powerful auxiliary in the sentiments 
of the northern nations of Europe, in the Mid- 


die Ages. In the East it had prejudices to 
combat, which had existed from time imme- 
morialy. .and were not distinguished from the 
institutions of nature. In Greece there was 
less of the oriental despotism, though there 
women were always secluded, and led a life 
of inferiority and subjection. In Italy, women 
enjoyed a happier lot. That practical people 
early perceived the loss of moral power which 
a community suffers, that condemns one half 
the species to ignorance and degradation. 
Their wiser indulgence was amply repaid in 
the succession of able statesmen and warriors 
their nation had produced, whose characters 
were mainly formed by the influence of gifted 
and educated women belonging to the most 
distinguished families. 

The northern nations carried these ideas 
still further. With them reverence for woman 
became a superstition, and it was supposed 
that she enjoyed miraculous communications of 
prudence in affairs and knowledge of futurity. 
"UTien Christianity came among them with its 
doctrine of the spiritual equality of woman, 
these barbarians received it as confirmation of 
their previous veneration for the w^eaker sex. 
Hence the romantic extravaorances of the in- 


stitution of chivalry. The absurdities of that 
system were the result of a good thing carried 
to excess. 

As the mists of ignorance cleared away in 
the returning civilization of modern times, those 
extravagances disappeared, and left the senti- 
ment of reverence for woman without its abuse. 
And this sentiment, at the present hour, may 
be justly regarded as the main cause of the 
political and moral preponderance of European 
nations and their descendants in the affairs of 
the world. 

In the United States, this sentiment of rev- 
erence for woman has been made more practi- 
cal and universal than in Europe itself. No 
where, by the confession of all observers, is 
she treated with so much respect. No where 
has she so much freedom, and no where has 
she shown so little disposition to abuse it. 
She has only then to preserve what she has 
obtained. The best way for her to do this 
is, to ask for no more, to understand her 
sphere, and be contented to move in it in 
quietness and peace. 

If she have the wisdom to do this, she will 
not listen to some of her sex, who, with much 
eloquence and plausibility, are endeavoring to 


persuade her to assert her claim to the right 
of suffrage, the tenure of political office, and 
the exercise of the professions, of speaking 
in public assemblies, and mingling in all the 
strife of partisan struggles and philanthropic 
enterprises. If there be not in a woman 
enough of that instinctive delicacy, which is 
with her a species of inspiration^ to prevent 
her from minorlinor in such scenes, there cer- 
tainly ought to be enough to make her shrink 
back from its practical results, the public 
exhibition of those passions and emotions 
which are sure to unsex and degrade her. 
The^-isecluded life which is marked out for 
woman by her constitution and peculiar duties, 
precludes her from the possibility of acquiring 
that breadth of information and practical know- 
led ore of the workincr of civil institutions, which 
are necessary to a just judgment of public mea- 
sures. Were every question to be decided by 
moral feeling, political affairs would be safer in 
the hands of the women than of the rougher sex. 
But the difficulty is, they feel too much and too 
acutely. They want measure and moderation, 
even in that which is good, and are liable to 
overlook the long distance which must ever in- 
tervene between the desirable and the possible. 


Thouorh denied in all countries the ri^ht of 
direct interference in political affairs, there is 
a sphere of indirect influence left open to 
woman, which ought to satisfy the most aspir- 
ing ambition, in her continual access to those 
who do govern, and her control over the 
opinions of each rising generation. Her real 
influence will be in proportion to the extent 
of her knowledge, and the degree of her men- 
tal culture. 

There is a class of writers, aofainst whom 
T[ feel it my duty, in this connexion, to put 
my countrywomen especially on their guard, 
those, I mean, who would plead the rights of 
woman aijainst the ricrors of the marriafje tie. 
There are those, and among them females of 
no little talent and celebrity, who are endea- 
voring to make out the case, that the contract 
which binds husband and wife, the nearer it 
approaches indissolubility the more oppressive 
it becomes to the weaker sex. More liberty, 
it is claimed, ought to be allowed both parties 
to terminate a connexion which is found to 
be unsuitable, uncongenial or unharmonious. 
Those who cannot love each other ought to 
be separated. Some go so far as to say, that 
without mutual affection, the contract itself is 



null and void. It is in fact the tendency of 
a large class of writings of the present day 
to undermine the sacredness of marriage. Our 
country is flooded with books which teach 
the most shockino^ and demoralizinsf doctrines 
upon this subject. 

If it were not attaching too much import- 
ance to writings which are so plainly profli- 
gate and detestable, I should be tempted to 
attribute to this cause the alarming increase 
which has taken place in this country in the 
number of divorces within a few vears. In 
some of the states they are said to have in- 
creased, within half a century, sixteen hundred 
per cent. This has ever been considered as 
one of the most certain indications of the de- 
praved condition of public morals. Such a 
things as a divorce was not known in Rome 
for many centuries, and when they did com- 
mence, and especially when they became fre- 
quent, every thing verged rapidly to ruin. 
Husbands repudiated their wives, and wives 
divorced their husbands, with scarcely any 
restraint, till one of their satirists relates a 
case in which a woman changed her husband 
five times in eight years. 

It is a remarkable and a significant fact, that 


almost the whole of this class of the advocates 
of the rights of women are infidels, open un- 
believers in the divine origin of Christianity, 
and many of them advocates of a new order 
of society, in which the natural distribution 
of mankind into families is to be overlooked. 
It is surprising that such women do not per- 
ceive, that the laws of marriage are enacted 
and devised for the especial protection of their 
own sex, which is the weaker party, in the 
contract. They are designed to devolve on 
both parents the care and labor of supporting 
and educating their common offspring. They 
are to secure to woman that aid which she 
requires, from the labors of the stronger sex 
in providing for a family. Any relaxation in 
the stringency of the laws which enforce the 
obligations of marriage is sure to operate to 
her disadvantage. All human laws have done 
nothing in this cause in comparison with 
Christianity. Marriage becomes sacred and 
indissoluble in precise proportion to the moral 
power which Christianity exercises over the 
hearts and consciences of mankind. 

There is no point in which the giving up 
of Christianity so soon manifests itself as in 
a tendency to dissoluteness in the intercourse 



of the sexes. The same phrensy which re- 
nounced all helief in a supernatural revelation 
in France, in the time of the revolution, pro- 
claimed an almost unlimited license of divorce, 
and the domestic hearih and the public altars 
of religion were violated and desecrated toge- 
ther. One of the most appalling horrors of 
that awful crisis, was the dissolution of family 
ties, the separation of husbands and wives, 
who, up to that period, had lived together in 
harmony and peace ; the scattering of children, 
who were first made spectators of their parents' 
quarrels, and then turned adrift to get their 
morals and their education from the mobs of 

What was then done in a mad moment of 
political excitement, is now attempted to be 
accomplished by the more deliberate process 
of a profligate literature, scattered abroad with 
a profusion equalling the multitudinous leaves 
of autumn. This literature has for its object 
to bring into contempt the whole institution 
of marriage, to pollute all its holy associations, 
to represent those who have been entrapped 
into it, as the victims of an absurd prejudice, 
or an antiquated usage. The relation in gen- 
eral is represented as a state of discontent, 


rather than enjoyment, and those who rebel 
against its restraints are rather to be com- 
mended for their moral courage in re-asserting 
the rights of women, than blamed for their 
hardihood in striking at the root of all that 
is most sacred in the human heart, and all 
that is most precious in social institutions. 

It is not wonderful, perhaps, that such a 
literature should be tolerated in France, where 
the traces of the infidelity and radicalism of 
the last century are not yet worn out. But 
it is strancje that it should cross the channel 
and find English translators and readers ; still 
more strange, that it should meet a reception 
in the United States, where, thanks to the 
influence of Christianity, marriage is still held 
in honor. Our whole country is at this mo- 
ment flooded with these leprous dregs of cor- 
ruption. If a premium were proposed for the 
composition of the most eflicient instrument 
of the defilement of a whole generation, 
nothing: could be brought forward more ex- 
actly fitted for its purpose. The mother 
who commends, or even tolerates in her 
family, such licentious productions, deserves 
to see her daughters unhappy in their married 



Woman has a right to education. By this 
I mean, that it is expedient for all parties that 
as much care and expense should be bestowed 
on the daughters as on the sons of a family. 
This, I am aware, is not the opinion or the 
practice which prevails in those parts of the 
world that are most civilized and most Chris- 
tian. I shall attempt to give my reasons for 
thinking that the importance of giving women 
a thorough education is not sufficiently appre- 

It is thought, because women do not exer- 
cise the learned professions, do not mingle in 
politics, do not transact public business, do 
not address assemblies, do not, as a general 
rule, employ their talents in authorship, that 
it is of minor importance whether or not their 
minds are stored with knowledge, whether 
their intellectual powers are disciplined by cul- 
ture, whether they can transcend with credit 
to themselves, the most ordinary topics of 

A part of mankind seem to think of woman 
as a mere doll, to be dressed up fantastically, 
and set up in the house as something to be 
looked at, or as a piece of automaton furniture, 
necessary to the completeness of a domestic 



establishment. Others seem to regard their 
wives as the connecting link between them- 
selves and societ}', to maintain the forms of 
daily intercourse, as a necessary instrument of 
success in business or ambition. Others make 
a wife nothinof more or other than a domestic 
drudge, to manage and labor for the daily 
wants of a household, to care for their physical 
wants and comforts, to see that they are well 
fed and clothed and lodged. 

Those who entertain such an estimate of the 
sphere and duties of woman, will, of course, 
consider her education as a matter of but 
very little importance. But, I ask if this be a 
worthy conception of one half the human 
species? It might answer for a Mahometan, 
who believes that women are created without 
souls, and are not made to be the companions 
of men here or hereafter. But such ideas 
ou<rht not to be so much as named amonjj 
Christians, who believe that all souls are equal 
in the siglit of God. 

Woman has a right to be educated for her 
own sake, because it adds to her resources 
within herself, and enlarges her means of hap- 
piness. Besides adding to the stores of positive 
knowledge, education disciplines and perfects 


all the faculties, gives acuteness to the percep- 
tions, delicacy to the sensibilities, accuracy to 
the power of observation, solidity to the judg- 
ment, and gives a woman weight, influence 
and respect w^ith those with whom she asso- 
ciates. Literature is becoming one of the 
chief means of entertainment, indeed, almost 
the only source of amusement to those who 
are past middle life. The profit and delight 
of reading is nearly in direct proportion to the 
knowledge already obtained. What more dig- 
nified, than for a woman to possess a sound 
judgment and a cultivated taste in literature, 
to be able- to appreciate the greatest produc- 
tions of the human mind, to be well informed 
on the principal subjects which engage the ij 
attention of the world ? What greater privi- 
lege than to be able to appreciate and enjoy 
the conversation of the educated and accom- 
plished of both sexes, to be fluent and unem- 
barrassed in the presence of the most learned 
and distinguished, to be delivered from the 
fear of committing disgraceful mistakes, and 
betraying the most humiliating ignorance in 
all companies, to have at hand some better 
and higher topics of conversation than the 
mere gossip of the day, to be able to relieve 



the discussion of persons by the investigation 
of principles, to escape from the prejudices 
and parties of the present into the neutral 
ground of the past ? 

There is a prejudice against learned women, 
I am aware, but not against educated women. 
It is the surest sio^n that a woman is not well 
educated, if her learning or her knowledge 
is made obtrusive and disfjustincr. A woman 
is not well educated who makes a show of 
her learning, In nothing does a good edu- 
cation show itself more than in the absence 
of all pretension, and the most perfect simpli- 
city and unconsciousness. 

Woman has a right to a good education, 
because it is expedient for all parties con- 
cerned that sl:ie should have it. She ought 
to be educated because home is the great 
school of humanity, and because the mother 
is the first, the principal, and the most influ- 
ential teacher. Her mind is the storehouse 
from which her children derive their ideas. 
She cannot open her mouth without teaching 
them something, either correct and elevated 
conceptions, or weak, silly, childish prejudices 
and superstitions. The child learns more from 
the conversation of the mother than fr©m any 


Other source. How fortunate that child, whose 
mother's mind is a mine of wisdom, a peren- 
nial fountain of knowledge ? Most distin- 
guished men have attributed their greatness to 
the influence and instructions of their mothers. 
As life advances and temptations increase, the 
safest refuge against the multitudinous corrup- 
tions of the world, is the sanctuary of home. 
The greatest attraction of home is always an 
intellectual and accomplished mother. She 
will draw around her the gifted and refined 
amono- the younof, and use the talents of all 
for the entertainment and instruction of each. 
Nothing contributes more to keep the sons of 
a family from low vices and dissipated com- 
panions than sincere respect for the under- 
standing and the principles of the mother. 
Nothing is so sure a preventive of vanity and 
frivolity in the daughters, as true culture and 
real refinement in her whom nature has con- 
stituted their model and adviser. 

Those who regard themselves as the reli- 
gious part of society, commit, as it seems to 
me, a fundamental error in the light in which 
they view amusements. Some overlook the 
fact that they are a constitutional want of 
human nature, others appear to esteem them 



as essentially immoral, others as below the 
attention of rational beings and wholly incon- 
sistent with the relicrious character. The con- 
sequence is, that being an instinctive and 
indestructible want of human nature, they will 
always prevail in some form; and in commu- 
nities where they are forbidden as a sin, they 
will be practised as a sin, and no discrimi- 
nation being made between innocent and 
immoral amusements, both will be practised 
without distinction, and those who become 
accustomed to break over an unnatural, artifi- 
cial and absurd rule of conduct, without 
compunction, will plunge headlong into all 
manner of vicious indulgence. 

The capacity for amusement is one of the 
constituent elements of the human constitu- 
tion. It is intended to fill up with innocent 
pleasure, the morning of life, when the powers 
are too immature for serious employment. The 
education of the senses and the training of 
the muscles, are carried on amidst the sports 
of infancy and childhood. This capacity of 
perpetual amusement, is one of the strongest 
evidences of the Creator's goodness. 

When the body arrives at its perfection and 
I the mind at its maturity, this capacity for 


amusements does not die out, as it would do 
were it intended to extend no further than 
childhood and youth. It continues not as a 
constant, but as an occasional inclination. It 
alternates with the desire of serious enterprise 
and laborious occupation. By constant appli- 
cation, the animal spirits become exhausted, 
the nerves unstrunor, the mind fatiijued. In 
that condition, the greatest refreshment is not 
absolute rest, b^t amusement. There springs 
up then, if I may so speak, an appetite for 
amusements, which cannot be satisfied with 
any -thing else. Under their influence the ani- 
mal spirits rise and regain their natural level, 
the mind recovers its elasticity, the temper, 
before irritable and exasperated, is soothed, 
and labor, which had begun to be a burden, 
again becomes a pleasure. Amusement at 
such seasons seems to have the same effect 
upon the mind, that we might conceive of as 
accompanying a return to the scenes of in- 
fancy and childhood, when we ran on green 
lawns or played in the plashy brook, or wan- 
dered among the forest trees. 

From such recreation, there is a positive 
increase of strength to encounter the troubles, 
and endure the trials and vexations of life; 


and these moral and physical effects leave no 
doubt as to the design of the capacity for 
amusement in the constitution of our nature. 
Nor are its social influences any less evident 
and benign. To partake of innocent pleasures 
together, does more to open the hearts of 
mankind than any thing else. Sympathy is 
the great means which God himself employs 
to cultivate the affections. Sympathy is the 
great bond of the domestic affections. No less 
than the ties of blood, it makes families one. 
Social amusements extend the bonds of sym- 
pathy. They counteract the cold selfishness, 
in which solitude and isolation are too apt to 
terminate. They smooth the asperities which 
arise in the rude collisions of business or am- 
bition, and knit again the friendships which 
have been shaken by the hourly rivalries and 
competitions of life. 

Such being the facts, to forbid amusements 
is exceedingly unwise. It is far better to reg- 
ulate them by the measures of prudence and 
experience. It is the only way to prevent 
their abuse. To debar the young from them 
will always seem unreasonable, and tend rather 
to undermine than confirm parental authority. 
Austerity is never a good government. Nothing 


is good which alienates parents and children. 
Let home then be made agreeable and attract- 
ive. Let woman be educated and accomplish- 
ed, and this most important end is secured. 
Woman has a right to be well educated, 
because it secures her social position'. When 
she is sOj it is no longer possible for husbands 
and brothers to treat her as an inferior. They 
will find in her a counsellor and companion, 
to advise and sustain them in their difficulties, 
to cheer them in their solitude, to be the orna- 
ment of their prosperity, and to draw from 
misfortune its sharpest sting. The education 
of woman is the surest safecruard against bar- 
barism and vice. Educated and accomplished 
mothers do more to build up and sustain fami- 
lies than the most gifted and successful fathers. 
The talents and eminence of fathers too often 
give a social standing to children of which 
they are totally unworthy, and which, as they 
suppose, renders all personal merit and exer- 
tion superfluous. Worse than this, too of- 
ten upon the strength of hereditary fame or 
wealth, they transgress every law of morality, 
and set at defiance those restraints which 
public opinion throws around the young, who 
are to be dependent on personal character* 


Notliing can counteract this fatal tendency 
but a judicious mother. She, by great watch- 
fulness and perpetual exertion, may form the 
sentiments of her children, and set their habits 
in such a direction as to keep them in the 
straight 'and narrow path of personal merit. 

There remains but one more topic which I 
intended to discuss in the present lecture, the 
security of woman's rights of property. In 
the lowest state of woman's condition she is 
a slave, incapable of holding property, being 
property herself. She is sold as property by 
her parents, and bought as property by her 
husband. Having a slave's condition, she has 
a slave's treatment. The next stafje is to 
make her free to dispose of herself This 
elevates her by making her equal in the origi- 
nal contract of marriaije. In the Icfjal ar- 
rangements of most nations, even the most 
civilized, there is a remnant of the old bar- 
barism in merging the wife's rights of property 
in those of her husband. This is intrinsically 
unjust and impolitic. There is no more jus- 
tice in making the property of the wife the 
property of her husband, than in making the 
property of the husband to belong to the 
wife. In some respects it is less politic. The 


•215 i 

wife is much the more helpless of the two. 
on the occurrence of any accident, and ought, 
therefore, to be doubly guarded against loss 
and destitution. 

The inequality of the rights of woman in 
property, it is to be feared, had its origin in 
the same cause with the right of primogeni- 
ture, in the power of the strongest, and in 
the fact, that men, not women, have always 
been legislators. Some civilians tell us, that 
the right of primogeniture was merely giving 
to the oldest son, peaceably, and by law, 
what he would have taken by force or fraud, 
from the younger and more defenceless mem- 
bers of the family. So the property of women 
has been given to their husbands, because 
they would have it at any rate. This is 
a poor account to give of the matter, but 
it is probably the best of which it is ca- 

Another ostensible reason is, the danger of 
creating a separate interest between husband 
and wife. This is a danger indeed, for 
nothing is so sure to give rise to alienation 
of affection as opposition, or even an ima- 
gined opposition, of interest. Many a marriage 
has been the source of untold misery, by the 



unwise arrangement of a separate purse. There 
is wisdom then, perhaps, in the apparent 
injustice of placing the income of the wife's 
property at the disposal of the husband. If it 
were not so, every husband and wife, who 
were both possessed of means, would have 
the power to separate and maintain their own 
establishments, the very worst possible condi- 
tion of thinixs that can be conceived. In 
Europe, where such arrangements are common, 
the ijreatest abuses and scandals are the con- 
sequence. Marriage, under such conditions, 
becomes a by-word and a jest. 

While then the woman, though she have a 
natural right to enjoy the income of her own 
property, may wisely submit to the present 
arrancrement that her husband should control 
the revenue ; yet she ought to insist on the 
settlement of her property on herself. It is 
her duty to him, as well as to herself. In 
such a country as ours especially, where 
speculation and hazard are universal, and the 
possessor of hundreds of thousands to-day, 
may be wholly destitute to-morrow, it becomes 
important that whatever property the wife has, 
should not be swept away in the wreck of 
her husband's fortunes. INIany families have 


been saved, by this wise forecast, from utter ! 

poverty and dependence. j 

Nearly connected with the rights of woman j 

in property, and the justice of securing it from I 

the imprudence or dishonesty of her husband, j 

comes the claim she has to just compensation | 

for her labor. There is no more melancholy { 

fact in the whole history of civilization, than j 

the lowness of woman's waopes in those nations ! 

who boast themselves as the most refined. In i 

this respect, extremes seem to meet ; and in | 

utter barbarism, and the highest perfection of j 

the arts and sciences, woman is made a slave. { 

She toils not for a just share of the avails of \ 

universal labor, but for a bare support ; and ! 

even where Christianity has its fullest sway, j 

woman gets for the most untiring industry, not i 

a support, but commiseration. ! 

There are many reasons for this, which do ' 

not lie on the surface, and which must always 1 

be taken into the account. Mankind are sup- i 

ported by the income of property and the | 

wages of labor. Where there is a thin popu- I 

lation in proportion to the soil, there wages j 

will be high, because there is much to be j 

done, and only a few people to do it. The : 

products of the soil will be cheap, because ; 


there will be great quantity raised, and few 
persons to consume it. But every step in the 
increase of population does so much to reverse 
this state of things, produces greater compe- 
tition among laborers, and raises the price 
of those things which they consume. In this 
increased competition, woman, who is the 
weaker party, suffers the most, because she 
is the weaker, and in the scramble for some- 
thing to do, is the last to be provided for. 
Her province of labor is invaded by the other 
sex, and thus the proper balance of employ- 
ment is destroyed. Spinning and weaving, 
once the exclusive employment of women, 
have been taken out of their hands by the 
invention of machinery. One woman, with the 
aid of machinery, can manufacture as much 
cloth as fifty could without it. So far then 
as the manufacturing of cloth is concerned, 
forty-nine women are thrown out of employ- 
ment, and o-reat distress would be the conse- 
quence, were not the flibric produced for about 
one fourth of its former price, and thus the 
other three quarters may be laid out in some- 
thing else that the industry of woman produces. 
As a compensation for this loss of employ- 
ment in the production of the coarser arti- 


cles of clothing, which has taken place in 
consequence of the extensive employment of 
machinery, there follows a greater ability to 
consume articles of luxury, which are for- 
tunately, for the mast part, the production of 
female labor. In this way, the immense wealth 
accumulated by the income of capital is again 
diffused among the masses, carrying comfort 
and abundance, as well as honest occupation 
in its way. 

There is an increase too of domestic service, 
which gives a home and protection to multi- 
tudes of females otherwise destitute. There is 
no higher test of principle and humanity in a 
woman of affluence and condition, than the 
light in which she regards, and the manner 
in which she treats her humbler sisters, often 
more deservincr, though less fortunate than 
herself She may make them comfortable and 
happy in their lot, by uniform forbearance and 
consideration, or she may pour a double por- 
tion of bitterness into their cup by harshness, 
coldness and hauteur. If woman has any rights 
at all, it is certainly the right to gentleness, 
compassion and kindness, from the powerful 
and wealthy of her own sex. 



HAVE been detained much 
longer than I anticipated by 
the subject I first took up, 
the Sphere and Duties of 
Woman. The consequence 
is, that what I have to say 
of Literary and Intellectual 
Culture will occupy a much 
smaller space in these lec- 
tures than I had intended. 
Having at length, however, de- 
spatched that prolific subject, 
I shall invite your attention 
tliis evening to -the Moral 
Uses of Poetry. 

The first distinction, which literature presents 
to us, is that of poetry and prose. As poetry 
is the most ancient of the two, it must be 
considered as the primary and most instinctive 


development of the human mind. It is the 
first expression of what is in man, of the 
thoughts, emotions, sentiments, feelings, pas- 
sions which are excited by all that he beholds 
and experiences in this life. Poetry preceded 
prose, because it preceded writing, and was 
the only form in which words could be 
remembered before any external signs were 
invented to represent them. Poetry preceded 
prose because it is capable of being set to 
music, which was a still earlier invention, 
while prose is not. Poetry and music both 
had their origin in the propensity, or rather 
instinct there is in us to express our emotions 
in words and tones. On the occurrence of 
a joyful event we give vent to our feelings 
by shouts of gladness. We repeat to ourselves 
in words, the facts, and the feelings which 
they excite over and over, because they have 
made a deep impression on our minds. Our 
exclamations when we are glad, reveal to us 
the origin of poetry, and show to us the 
Lyric Muse in her cradle. Just so is it with 
the low wailings of bereavement and sorrow. 
They too form themselves into music and 
poetry, but take the longer, slower measure of 
the elegy or the dirge. Thus it w^as that the 



various feelings, sentiments, and passions of 
humanity found expression in the ruder ages 
of the world, and thus originated poetry, and 
thus in fact sprang up literature, the mightiest 
agcni in the advancement of mankind. 

But poetry differs from prose in its substance 
as well as its form. Prose is generally a 
literal representation of things. It adopts words 
I which convey as nearly as possible a precise 
idea of the thing represented, otherwise it 
would fail of its purpose to convey true and 
just conceptions, and would thus be the in- 
strument of deception. This is the form which 
our communications assume in the ordinary, 
unimpassioned intercourse of life. But let 
emotion spring up in the heart of the most 
prosaic, and poetry is instantly born. Literal 
words become no longer capable of expressing, 
not the things themselves, but our apprehen- 
sion of them, the feelings we have concerning 
them. The man who has wronged us becomes 
a Turk. The man that has betrayed us be- 
comes a Judas. The place where we have been 
happy becomes a Paradise, and the one where 
we have been miserable, a Pandemonium. Thus, 
then, a ne^v language is invented, a language 
of svmbols, instead of words. But it causes 


few mistakes, for it is rightly interpreted by 
the same poetic element which exists in every 
human being. 

As poetry originates in emotion, so through 
the mysterious sympathies by which we are 
bound together, it usually excites emotion of 
the same kind. Emotions are generally plea- 
surable. They rouse us up from the dead 
level of a monotonous existence, and give us 
a hicrher consciousness of our beinor. Hence 
the pleasures of poetry, hence its popularity 
in all ages and nations. As in its creation 
the mind puts forth its highest energies, so 
its reilex influence upon the human mind and 
heart is powerful to a corresponding degree. 
It excites the same feelings in which it had 
its birth, and thus, by repeated exercise it 
tends to give a preponderance in the character 
to those sentiments, feelings and passions to 
which it addresses itself. Hence the immea- 
surable moral power of poetry. It is the pioneer 
of civilization and improvement. It is the first 
articulate voice of that common inspiration 
which giveth man understanding. We are not 
to suppose that God has taken no care of 
that part. of mankind which he has left without 
J a supernatural revelation, that his providence 


does not likewise extend to them. It is in 
his plan that the wise should every where 
instruct the ignorant, the strong should help 
the weak. Who but he endows the poet with 
an extraordinary measure of the same powers 
which he has conferred on all men ? It was 
not then the reverence of superstition, but the 
dictate of sound reason, which has in all ages 
attributed inspiration to the poet, and has 
made poet and prophet synonymous with 
each other. Epimenides, a poet of Crete, is 
called a prophet by Paul himself. 

But whatever may be the kind and degree 
of the inspiration of the poet, certain it is 
that the Creator has so constituted man, that 
poetry shall spring out of the better elements 
of his nature, shall in turn address those 
better elements, aid in their development, and 
tend to give them the predominance in the 
formation of his character, and the govern- 
ment of his conduct. Nothing bad is poetic 
in man. The moment the poet attempts to 
prostitute his noble powers to the commen- 
dation of moral obliquity, to the kindling of 
the baser passions, his inspiration is with- 
drawn, the wing of his imagination droops, 
and his celestial harp, though tuned to hea- 


venly harmonies, begins to grate harsh dis-- 

Poetry then, is the natural language of 
the moral, the intellectual, the spiritual, and 
religious nature of man. Reason and the 
moral sense, thouofh constituent elements of 
man, are but a small part of his nature. 
They are intended to guide and direct him. 
But there must be something in him impulsive 
as well as directive, otherwise he would re- 
main for ever at rest. There are the affections, 
which knit our hearts to our natural con- 
nexions, to home and country. There are 
the passions, those hopes which naturally 
spring up in our minds with the conscious- 
ness of virtue, and those fears which are 
the natural offspring of ill desert. Then there 
are the sentiments, reverence for the unseen 
Power upon which we depend, enthusiasm 
for the true and the just, admiration for cou- 
rage, fortitude and magnanimity. There is 
within us a tender and undying sympathy 
with human nature, a susceptibility to plea- 
sure in the contemplation of beauty, whether 
in nature or art, an awe for that mysterious 
Holiness which seems to brood over and per- 
vade the universe. There are besides, plea- 


sures of the imagination. The memory, or 
the bare conception of these realities, brings . 
to us a sort of reflection, like the second 
rainbow, a milder dec^ree of these oricjinal 
pleasures. Here then is the wide and beauti- 
ful domain of poetry, to express and thus 
i to awaken the passions ; to give utterance to 
I the sentiments, and thus to refine and exalt 
them ; to call into exercise, and thus strengthen 
the sympathies, to point out and delineate 
beauty, to call up from the buried treasures 
of the past the stores of memory and imagi- 
nation, — this is the high and glorious office of 
poetry, for which it has claimed and received 
in all ages, the highest homage of the human 

The first sentiment which called poetry into 
being was patriotism. I ought, perhaps, rather 
to call it an affection, for it is too strong a 
feeling to rank with the fainter emotions 
which are denominated sentiments. Few of 
us ever become fully aware of the strength 
of those ties which bind our hearts to our 
country. There are occasions, however, which 
bring it out, and show us that it dwells in 
the very centre of our being. We live in 
an age of comparative peace. We love it 


for its own sake, and for the advantages it 
brings. We abhor the scenes of carnage 
and blood, of violence and plunder, which 
war never fails to occasion. Vv'e live, more- 
over, under the mild reign of the Prince of 
Peace. Nay, we form peace societies, and 
meet together and talk with rapture of a j 
univer=a.l millenium. But let us hear that ' 
one of our fellow citizens has been wronged, 
or falsely imprisoned by the public authorities 
of a foreio^n nation, let us hear that our flacr 
has been insulted or our territory invaded, 
and the blood boils in our veins, a spirit 
rises within us that nothing can repress. The 
iornoble advantages of trade and ofain are 
flung to the winds as nothing worth, blood 
and treasure weigh but as the small dust of 
the balance, and the cry of war rolls like thun- 
der from one end of the continent to the other. 
If you would know the depth of the senti- 
ment of patriotism, go travel in a foreign land, 
journey on day after day, week after week, 
and see nothincr but strange men, and strancrer 
manners, costumes, and habits. You come 
at lencrth in si^ht of a noble citv. Your 
eye wanders in admiration and delight over 

its spires, its towers, its battlements and forti- 



fications, till at last among the groves of 
masts which people its harbor, it catches a 
glimpse of the star spangled banner, in whose 
folds float the honor, the majesty, and the 
power of your country. Your tongue is mo- 
tionless, but your streaming eyes and heaving 
bosom will tell more eloquently than words 
how much you love your country. 

It was this deep and overpowering senti- 
ment that first found utterance through poetry. 
The first song, of which we have any record, 
was chanted upon the shores of the Red 
Sea, after a great national deliverance. Stand- 
ing as the Hebrews did in safety, and 
surveying the sea through which they had 
passed, covered with the wrecks of their 
enemies, human nature could not keep si- 
lence. The voice of joy and gratitude broke 
forth, and it spoke in poetry. 

''And Miriam the prophetess, the sister of 
Aaron, took a timbrel in her hand, and all 
the women went out after her with timbrels 
and dances, and Miriam answered them," 

" Sing ye to the Lord, for he hath triumphed glori- 
The horse and his rider hath he thrown into the sea." 


Or as another poetess of our own times has 
rendered it into modern verse ; 

" Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea, 
Jehovah hath triumphed, his people are free." 

At a later period Hebrew patriotism spake j 
once more through poetry, but it was in 
another strain. It was when the glorious 
ages of the nation were over, and had be- 
come a tale of other times. It was when 
the daughter of Zion, plucked up from her 
native seats, was borne away into captivity. It 
was when she paused in her journey to 
slavery, and with streaming hair and dust 
upon her head sat down by the rivers ©f 

'*By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down. 

Yea, we wept when we remembered Zion. 

We hanged our harps upon the willows in the midst 

For they that carried us away captive required of 
us a song. 

And they that wasted us required of us mirth, saying, 
Shig us one of the songs of Zion, 

How shall we sing the Lord's song in a strange land? 
If I forget thee, O Jerusalem, 
Let my right hand forget her cunning ! 



If I do not remember thee. 

Let my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth ! 

If I prefer not Jerusalem above my chief joy!" 

In the same manner it was patriotism that 
first kindled poetry among the Greeks. It 
was love of country which led Homer to 
sing the exploits of the heroes of Greece be- 
fore the walls of Troy, and thus to become 
the first spark in kindling the intellect of that 
I wonderful people. Of Athens, the oldest 
poetic fragment we have is a sort of hymn, 
j composed in celebration of the assassination 
' of a tyrant. It was the standing dinner song 
; f(^ centuries to the whole people ; and it has 
I been said by one who knew human nature 
I well, that if Brutus could have composed as 
I good a one on the death of CjEsar, Rome 
I would never have relapsed under the tyranny 
j of the emperors. Soon after the establish- 
I ment of the Athenian republic by Solon, 
I Pisistratus a demagogue, by a mean flattery 
of the people, usurped the government, and 
made himself the tyrant of Athens. But 
though a usurper, his government was on the 
whole mild and liberal, and he was permit- 
ted to die in possession of the supreme 


authority. His sons, Hippias and Hipparchus, 
attempted to tread in his footsteps, but in 
vain. They inherited all their father's tyranny 
with none of his virtues. A conspiracy was 
formed to rid the city of them, and re-estab- 
lish a free government. Two noble youths, 
Harmodius and Aristogiton, undertook the task, 
and approaching the tyrants with their swords 
concealed in myrtle boughs, succeeded in 
putting one of them to death. Their plan 
however, on the whole, miscarried for the time, 
and both were seized and slain. But their 
blood v/as the seed of liberty. In three years 
the other brother was expelled, and Athens 
again was free. That event was celebrated by 
the following ode, which became inexpressibly 
dear to every Athenian heart. 

*' Verdant myrtle's branchy pride 
Shall my thirsty blade entwine ; 

Such, Harmodius, deck'd thy side. 
Such, Aristogiton, thine. 

Noblest youths ! in islands blest. 
Not like recreant idlers dead ; 

You with fleet Pelides rest. 
And with godhke Diomed. 


Myrile shall our brows entwine 

While the muse your fame shall tell; 

'Twas at Pallas' sacred shrine. 
At your feet the tyrant fell. 

Then in Athens all was peace. 

Equal laws and liberty ; 
Nurse of arts and eye of Greece, 
! People valiant, firm and free !" 


: It was an ardent patriotism, thus cherished, 

' thus expressed, and thus inculcated, which 

j made Greece what slie afterwards became. It 

breathed that indomitable energy into her 

armies, before which the millions of Asia fled 

in dismay on the plains of Marathon and 

Platea, and made her by turns, small as she 

appeared upon the map of the earth, alternately 

the admiration and the terror of the world. 

There is, beside the love of country, a 

sentiment deep rooted within us, of sympathy 

with our kind, which cannot perhaps, be better 

denominated than by the name of humanity. 

The best expression which this sentiment has 

ever found was by a Roman, himself a poet. 

"I am a man, and nothing which concerns 

humanity fails deeply to move my heart." It 

is this secret sympathy, which is one of the 


principal causes of our delight in literature. 
For what is all literature but the presentation 
to the human mind of the actions, the con- 
dition, the thoughts, feelings, sufferings, the 
joys and sorrows of our fellow men ? It is 
not so much the gratification of mere curiosity, 
or the increase of practical knowledge, as it 
is the pleasure of sympathy, which leads us 
to read of the distant and the past. This is 
the reason of the absorbing interest we always 
feel in a personal narrative, perhaps above 
every other species of composition. We feel, 
that however lono- aero, or however remote the 
actor or the sufferer lived, he was our brother. 
A mother's bosom pillowed his infancy as 
well as ours. To him, home, and life, and 
hope were dear. The same sun lighted him, 
the same earth cherished him, and his prospect 
was shut in by the same surrounding sky. 
It is not Robinson Crusoe, the English sailor, 
that the boy follows to his desolate island, 
and reads of with such breathless interest 
through many a glimmering page, it is himself 
identified with Robinson Crusoe. So great is 
the power of sympathy, that when that lone 
adventurer finds himself the only inhabitant of 
that solitary isle, cut off from the world, and 


all intercourse with his species, the beating 
heart of the little reader is almost as nnuch 
concerned, as if he were there himself; and 
when, after gazing day after day in vain upon 
the unchanging expanse of the all-surrounding 
sea, and listening to the monotony of its 
sullen roar, a sail at last gladdens the sinfht 
of the exile, the little sympathizer is almost 
as much relieved as if he, and not his hero, 
were about to step upon her deck. 

This strong sympathy with our species is the 
cause of much of the pleasure we experience 
in reading history. We cannot avoid, even if 
we would, identifying ourselves with the various 
actors in the scene. We engage in their 
enterprises with almost as much ardor as if 
it were still uncertain whether they should 
succeed. We fight their battles as bravely as 
if it were still undecided who should be 
victorious. This interest is increased just in 
proportion to the particularity of the narrative, 
to the minuteness of the delineation of char- 
acters, persons, costumes and manners. The 
beauty and flowing locks of Absalom, profligate 
and parricide as he was, interest us more 
powerfully in his fate, in spite of our moral 
judgments, than we are capable of becoming 


in a much better man, whose name alone, 
written in the Sacred Records, presents us 
only with a dim abstraction. Poetry, which 
dwells in particulars instead of the generals 
of history, supplies this defect, and can take 
a bare event of history which has but a slight 
hold of the feelings, and by a few descriptive 
touches, make it highly sublime or pathetic. 
Thus the m-eagre outline of the apparition of 
Samuel to Saul on the eve of the fatal battle 
becomes, in the hands of Byron, a picture 
to harrow up the soul. 

* Thou whose spell can raise the dead. 

Bid the prophet's form appear. 
'Samuel, raise thy buried head! 
King, behold the phantom seer!' 

*' Earth yawn'd ; he stood the centre of a cloud : 
Light changed its hue, retiring from his shroud : 
Death stood all glassy in his fixed eye ; 
His hand was wither'd and his veins were dry ; 
His foot, in bony whiteness, ghtter'd there. 
Shrunken and sinewless, and ghastly bare : 
From lips that moved not and unbreathing frame. 
Like cavern'd winds, the hollow accents came. 
Saul saw, and fell to earth, as falls the oak. 
At once, and blasted by the thunder-stroke." 


We read in the Jewish history, that under 
the reign of Hezekiah, Jerusalem was besieged 
by Sennacherib, king of Assyria, with an army 
of overwhehning numbers. The inhabitants 
were in the greatest consternation, but re- 
ceived assurances of the protection of Jeho- 
vah. By some Divine visitation they were all 
destroyed in one night, and the event is thus 
briefly described; "And it came to pass that 
ni/rht, that the anorel of the Lord went out 
and smote the camp of the Assyrians, an 
hundred and four score and five thousand : 
and when they arose early in the morning, 
behold, they were all dead men." This event 
in the few words of the simple narrative is 
impressive, but in the hands of high poetic 
genius it becomes one of the most mag- 
nificent pictures in all literature, 

"The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, 
And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold ; 
And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea. 
When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. 

" Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green, 
That host with their banners at sunset were seen; 
Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown, 
That host on the morrow lav withered and strown. 


" For the angel of death spread his wings on the blast. 
And breathed in the face of the foe as he pass'd ; 
And the eyes of the sleepers waxM deadly and chill. 
And their hearts but once heaved, and forever grew still. 

*' And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide. 
But through it there rolPd not the breath of his pride : 
And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf. 
And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf. 

"And there lay the rider distorted and pale. 
With the dew on his brow and the rust on his mail ; 
And the tents were all silent, the banners alone. 
The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown. 

''And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail. 
And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal ; 
And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword. 
Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord !" 

There is no other way except that of mi- 
nute description to awaken the deep sympa- 
thies of the human heart. This is one rea- 
son of the deadness and indifference of the 
public mind to the condition and sufferings 
of numerous classes at our very doors. It is 
because they are dumb. Ignorance and po- 
verty have kept them mute, and hindered 
them from sending up a voice into the litera- 
ture of the world. It was thus with that 


most interestinor but neo^lected class of our 
fellow creatures, the seamen, until their con- 
dition begun to be described by one of them- 
selves, whom nature had made a poet and 
piety made a preacher. I refer to the Rev. 
Edward Taylor of Boston. It is while listen- 
inof to him, or readincr such a book as that 
lately put forth by the author of Two Years 
Before the Mast, that the busy multitude on 
land learn to realize the fact, that human 
hearts beat in the forecastle as well as the 
senatehouse, and the saloon ; that those who 
go down into the sea in ships and see God's 
wonders in the deep, though assimilated in 
manners and exterior to the rough elements 
which they encounter, are by no means des- 
titute of the finest susceptibilities of our nature. 
It is in this way, I have not the least doubt, 
that literature is at length to be made the 
instrument of awakening a powerful interest in 
behalf of the poor sailor in the hearts of those 
who are able to meliorate his condition, and 
by elevating his character be the means of 
redeeming him from the cowardly and petty 
tyranny to which he is now subjected. Nay, 
there will be a literature for the sailors them- 
selves, so that their monotonous and isolated 

' i 


life shall be refreshed and gladdened by the 
pleasures of knowledge, of thought and ira- 

It is to this strong sympathy with human 
nature that many of the most exquisite pas- 
sages of poetry owe their interest, which ap- 
pear at first sight to be merely descriptive. It 
is this, which makes so thrilling Byron's de- 
scription of the night before the battle of 

" There was a sound of revelry by night. 
And Belgium's capital had gaiher'd then 
Her beauty and her chivalry, and bright 
The lamps shoue o'er fair women and brave men ; 
A thousand hearts beat happily ; and when 
Music arose with its voluptuous swell. 
Soft eyes look'd love to eyes which spake again. 
And all went merry as a marriage-bell ; 
But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes liiie arising knell! 

" Did ye not hear it? — No; 't was but the wind. 
Or the car rattling o'er the stony street; 
On with the dance ! let joy be unconfined ; 
No sleep till morn when youth and pleasure meet. 
To chase the glowing hours with flying feet — 
But, hark! — that heavy sound breaks in once more. 
As if the clouds its echo would repeat; 
And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before ! 
Arm! arm! it is — it is — the cannon's opening roar. 


" Ah ! then and there was hurrying to and fro, 
And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress. 
And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago 
Blush'd at the praise of their own loveliness ; 
And there were sudden partings, such as press 
The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs 
Which ne'er might be repeated ; who could guess 
If ever more should meet those mutual eyes, 
Since upon nights so sweetsuch awful morn could rise? 

" And there was mounting in hot haste : the steed. 
The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, 
Went pouring forward with impetuous speed. 
And swiftly forming in the ranks of war; 
And the deep thunder peal on peal afar ; 
And near, the beat of the alarming drum 
Roused up the soldier ere the morning star; 
While ihrong'd the citizens with terror dumb. 
Or whispering, with white lips — 'The foe! They 
come ! they come !' 

" A nd Ardennes waves above them her green leaves. 
Dewy with nature's tear-drops, as they pass. 
Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves. 
Over the unreturning brave, — alas ! 
Ere evening to be trodden like the grass 
Which now beneath them, but above shall grow 
In its next verdure, when this fiery mass 
Of living valor, rolling on the foe, 
And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and 


*' Last nooQ beheld them full of lusty life. 
Last eve in beauty's circle proudly gay. 
The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife. 
The morn the marshalling in arms, — the day 
Battle's magnificently-stern array ! 
The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent. 
The earth is cover'd thick with other clay. 
Which her own clay shall cover, heap'd and pent. 
Rider and horse, — friend, foe, — in one red burial 

There is in man an innate and inextinoruish- 
able love of nature. There is a nice adaptation 
of nature to the soul, and of the soul to 
nature. There is in the soul an exquisite sen- 
sibility to what is beautiful and sublime in the 
materia] universe. It sheds upon us a thou- 
sand nameless influences when we are least 
aware. They are ever streaming in upon the 
soul through the windows of the senses, and 
sometimes pour in such a flood of deliorht, 
that the fountains of joy overflow within us. 
From our earliest years there is a deep 
pleasure in looking upon this magnificent 
world. The opening of the spring, the singing 
of birds, the flowers of summer, the blushes of 
the morning, a calm bright day, the pillared 
thundercloud, the farewell rays of the setting 



sun, the winding stream, the distant mountain, 
the open sea, the city's hum, the forest's 
solitude, all these objects and others innume- 
rable, have the power to excite within us 
emotions of the purest and most spiritual 

These pleasures decrease not with lapse of 
years, nor with growing familiarity. They 
rather increase with time. Nature is our 
inseparable companion, and her presence is 
the more dear to us from the memory of the 
pleasures she has already conferred upon us. 
Enjoying a perpetual youth, no wrinkle ever 
stealing upon her brow, and no paleness ever 
invading her bloom, she is for ever lovely, 
and even when our bodies wax old and decay, 
our souls, which share her own immortality, 
still continue to love her with all the fervor 
of our freshest years. 

This love of nature is a perennial fountain 
of enjoyment. Next to religion and friendship 
it has the greatest power over us to soothe 
our feelings in the hour of calamity. When 
our hearts are wrung with grief, and hope is 
dead within us, when life itself seems almost 
insupportable, a solitary walk among the green 
fields and under the sublime arch of heaven, 


has the power to tranquillize our feelings 
when scarce any thing else could afford us 
relief. Whatever the tumults which rend our 
bosoms, the face of nature is for ever serene, 
and we feel that her unfading beauty is the 
smile of God. In it we learn that trouble and 
disquiet are of our little sphere, of time, and 
of change, tranquillity and peace are of the 
universe, of eternity. 

Poets differ from other men in their greater 
susceptibility to the beauties of nature more 
than in any thing else. Byron in his boyhood 
would lie for hours motionless and apparently 
entranced upon a tombstone which command- 
ed an extensive and beautiful prospect. And 
no one can ever have read the exquisite de- 
scription of Paradise in Milton's great poem, 
without being impressed with the conviction, 
that he, who in blindness could give such 
gorgeous pictures of the glories of the exter- 
nal world, must have had a soul most tenderly 
alive to the beautiful in nature before that 
awful calamity befel him, which he has so 
pathetically lamented. 

" Thus with the year 
Seasons return, but not to rae returns 
Day, or the sweet approach of ev'n or morn. 


Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose. 
Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine; 
But cloud instead, and ever-during dark." 

As the love of nature is universal, so the 
pictures of it, which the poet spreads before 
the imagination, are universally pleasing. They 
are pleasing, because as works of art, in the 
same manner as painting and statuary, they 
present an image more or less perfect, of 
that which we are formed to love and admire. 
This pleasure is increased by the additional 
one of sympathy with the feeling, which the 
true poet always infuses into his descriptions. 
It is by appealing to this universal love of 
nature, that Thompson's Seasons, a work 
whose poetic merit is by no means high, has 
been one of the most popular books in the 

In Milton, as we have seen, this love of 
nature amounted to a passion. It is strikingly 
exhibited in some of his lighter pieces, in his 
L' Allegro for instance, which, in the language 
of an able critic, differs from other poems 
as the otto of roses differs from the mere 
essence. In that little poem, his description 
of morning, for tranquil and sparkling beauty, 
has never been surpassed. 


" To hear the lark begin his flight. 

And singing' startle the dull night. 

From his watch-tower in the skies. 

Till the dappled dawn doth rise; 

Then to come in spite of sorrow. 

And at my window bid good-morrow. 

Through the sweeibrier, or the vine. 

Or the twisted eglantine : 

While the cock with lively din 

Scatters the rear of darkness thin. 

And to the stack, or the barn-door. 

Stoutly struts his dames before ; 

Oft listening how the hounds and horn 

Cheerly rouse the slumb'ring morn. 

From the side of some hoar hill, 

Through the high wood echoing shrill : 

Some time walking not unseen 

By hedge-row elms, on hillocks green. 

Right against the eastern gate. 

Where the great Sun begins his state, 

Rob'd in flames and amber light. 

The clouds in thousand liveries dight. 

While the plowman near at hand 

Whistles o'er the furrowM land. 

And the milkmaid singeth blithe. 

And the mower whets his scythe. 

And every shepherd tells his tale 

Under the hawthorn in the dale. 

Strait mine eye hath caught new pleasures. 

Whilst the landskip round it measures ; 



Russet lawns, and fallows gray. 
Where the nibbling flacks do stray. 
Mountains on whose barren breast 
The laboring clouds do often rest; 
Meadows trim with daisies pied. 
Shallow brooks and rivers wide. 
Towers and battlements it sees 
Bosom'd high in tufted trees. 
Where perhaps some beauty lies. 
The Cynosure of neighb'ring eyes." 

Such was the sensibility of that great man 
to the gentle, every day beauties of rural life, 
and it fills us with astonishment at the univer- 
sality of his genius, which could turn from 
this visible, diurnal sphere, and create in the 
unfathomable regions of perpetual darkness, 
the sublimely terrific abstractions of Sin and 

In the more ardent temperament of Byron, 
this love of nature assumed a still more 
intense and passionate form. His description 
of the thunder storm by night among the Alps 
and over the lake of Geneva, has perhaps, 
for thrilling intensity of feeling, never been 

" All heaven and earth are still — though not in sleep. 
But breathless, as we grow when feeling most ; 


And silent, as we stand in thoughts too deep : — 
All heaven and earth are still : from the high host 
Of stars, to the lulPd lake and mountain-coast. 
All is concentred in a life intense. 
Where not a beam, nor air, nor leaf is lost. 
But hath a part of being, and a sense 
Of that which is of all Creator and defence. 

*'Then stirs the feeling infinite, so felt 
In solitude, where we are least alone ; 
A truth, which through our being then doth melt. 
And purifies from self: it is a tone. 
The soul and source of music, which makes known 
Eternal harmony, and sheds a charm. 
Like to the fabled Cytherea^s zone. 
Binding all things with beauty ; — 't would disarm 
The spectre Death, had he substantial power to harm. 

"Theskyis changed! — and such a change! Oh night. 
And storm, and darkness, ye are wonderous strong. 
Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light 
Of a dark eye in woman ! Far along. 
From peak to peak, the rattling crags among 
Leaps the live thunder ! Not from one lone cloud. 
But every mountain now hath found a tongue. 
And Jura answers, through her misty shroud. 
Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud ! 

'* And this is in the night: — most glorious night! 
Thou wert not sent for slumber! let me be 


A sharer in thy fierce and far delight, — 
A portion of the tempest and of thee ! 
How the lit lake shines, a phosphoric sea. 
And the big rain comes dancing to the earth ! 
And now again 't is black, — and now, the glee 
Of the loud hills shakes with its mountain-mirth, 
As if they did rejoice o'er a young earthquake's birth,'' 

No where perhaps, in all literature, is the 
deep sympathy of the human heart with the 
beauty and sublimity of nature so vividly 
expressed as in this most memorable description. 

Finally, I come to speak on that which is 
the main subject of this lecture, the imme- 
diate moral influence of poetry. 

Poetry is the grand expositor of the moral 
and religious nature of man. All true poets 
are to a greater or less extent preachers of 
righteousness, and often when they least intend 
it. They utter the true voices of universal 
humanity. They give utterance in clearest 
and most definite expression to those moral 
convictions, which are God's primitive law 
written upon the heart. The soul of every 
man that is born into the world has a feeling 
of the nobleness and the glory of virtue. 
It has the consciousness that it was made 
for virtue. It has as deep a sense of the 


meanness and the degradation of vice. These 
sentiments no personal misconduct can ever 
change. No man despises and abhors the 
sinner so much as he does himself. And 
no man has a heartier admiration for virtue 
than the habitual transgressor. It follows then, 
that the moral sentiments of good and bad 
men are the same. It follows likewise, that 
no flower of spring, no tint of the evening 
sky, can appear more beautiful to the eye, 
than moral loveliness and purity do to the 
mind. Mountain or ocean is not more sublime 
than incorruptible integrity, unconquerable*fidel- 
ity, heroic courage in defence of truth and 
honor, than that self sacrificing love that is 
stronger than death. All these qualities are 
in the highest degree poetic, and the poet, 
if he speak at all, must sing their praise. 
Whilst he is setting them forth in that ex- 
alted eloquence in which it is his prerogative 
to speak, he is stimulated in his task by 
the consciousness that he is uttering the 
sentiments of all mankind, and will meet a 
response in every human heart. 

But vice is essentially unpoetic. To the 
higher nature of man, the moral and intel- 
lectual, where poetry is born, vice is loath- 




some and abominable. To name it even is 
accompanied by a secret shame, which damps 
and extinguishes all poetic ardor. As Balaam 
could prophesy only when he would bless 
the people of God, and found the oracle 
dumb witlyn him when he would curse them, 
so the poet is visited by visions of beauty 
and splendor only when he would uphold the 
cause of truth and goodness. Vice is moral 
deformity, and the more it is exhibited the 
more odious it appears. One of the strongest 
proofs of the identity and universality of the 
moral sense is, that it pervades the literature, 
and particularly the poetry of all nations, and 
is nearly the same in all. The basis of the 
Iliad is moral and religious. It inculcates 
the doctrine of a Providence, of a Witness, 
and Rewarder of men. Homer collects the 
armies of Greece before the walls of Troy to 
avenge an atrocious crime ; and the reader 
when he sees that ancient city uprooted from 
its foundations, and its inhabitants scattered 
into slavery, cannot avoid receiving the great 
moral lesson which it is intended to teach, 
the endless woes which may be occasioned 
by one act of moral misconduct. The Greek 
tragedians considered their plays rather as 


solemn moral lectures, than as the means of 
I mere public amusement. 

indeed, what was the whole fabric of 
heathen reli^fion but the creation of the ima- 
gination, stimulated and guided by the moral 
sense ? The chains and darkness of their 
Tartarian regions, the groans and tortures of 
that dread abode, were nothing other than 
the images excited in the imagination by the 
horrors of a guilty conscience. And Tan- 
talus with his quenchless thirst, and Prome- 
theus bound to the rock, while the vulture 
for ever gnawed his side, were merely the 
expression of the universal experience, that 
sin ever draws after it a lonof and severe re- 
tribution. The Elvsian fields, where eternal 
sunshine reigned, where the flowers for ever 
bloomed, and spring for ever smiled, were 
nothing more than the syftibols of that se- 
renity and hope, which ever pervade the soul, 
when it has proved faithful to duty. 

It has been complained of Shakspeare, that 
with his vast genius, he never attempted to 
make the world any better. It may be an- 
swered, that he has done more good than if 
such a design had been apparent. As it is, 
his testimony is unsuspected. He stands up 


before the world as a disinterested and im- 
partial witness. He looked deeper into the 
human soul than any other uninspired mind, 
and when he tells us what he finds there, 
we are more inclined to believe him than if 
we knew he made up his report for some 
ulterior purpose. Our disposition to believe 
him is the stronger, as we find there is 
almost an exact coincidence between poetic 
and Divine inspiration. 

I know nothing out of the Sacred Scrip- 
tures, which makes a deeper moral impression 
than the play of Macbeth, nothing which re- 
presents more strongly and more truly the 
spiritual might of sin to destroy the soul. 
Macbeth and his lady, two strong and well 
balanced minds, are introduced to us, in the 
possession of wealth, rank and mutual love, 
surrounded with all the pleasures of refine- 
ment, added to the quiet satisfactions of a 
rural life. The very atmosphere about their 
castle is fragrant, and breathes of peace and 
contentment. On one sad night the devil of 
ambition steals into this paradise, and all is 
turned to misery and desolation. Macbeth, 
against the strugglings of his better nature, 
urged on by the fierce, indomitable, unscru- 


pulous spirit of his wife, in the full con- 
sciousness of the turpitude of the act, that 
it is in violation of the most sacred laws of 
religion, honor, and hospitality, becomes the 
assassin of his sovereign and benefactor. The 
very elements seem to shudder at the horrid 
deed. "The very night became unruly, the 
chimneys were blow^n down, lamentings heard 
in the air, strange screams of death, and 
prophesying with accents terrible of dire com- 
bustion, and confused events, new hatched 
in the woful time." But this was nothing to 
the tempest which then began in the soul 
of the murderer. The hour of retribution im- 
mediately comm.ences, and no warning can be 
more impressive than the language of his guilty 

"Henceforth to me there's nothing serious in mortality; 
All is but toys, renown and grace is dead. 
The wine of life is drawn, and ihe mere lees 
Is left this vault to brag of." 

The wife becomes a still more melancholy 
object. That indomitable spirit, daring almost 
to sublimity, is at length subdued by the sub- 
tile poison of guilt, and though before the 
world she carries a calm demeanor and an 



open brow, when sleep transports her soul 
to the spiritual world, her body rises to enact 
before the astonished eyes of mortals the 
horrors that are going on within. How aw- 
fully is symbolized the undying remembrance of 
the soul in those "damned spots," which will 
not be washed away, and even when they 
are obliterated the smell of blood remains! 
The exceptions which may be pleaded to 
the general principle, that the poet is always 
a witness for virtue, are only apparent. It 
may be said that Byron and Burns were im- 
moral men, and have occasionally shocked 
the moral sense of the world as well by 
their writings as their conduct. It may be 
answered, that no where can they find a 
severer condemnation than out of their own 
mouths. There are other passages, where 
every principle is asserted which they violated, 
and which show that their moral perceptions 
were as much keener than those of other 
men as their intellects were stronger, and 
their passions more intense ; and their pros- 
pects for futurity become blacker as we con- 
template their moral obliquities, for we per- 
ceive that they must inevitably fall under the 
condemnation of that servant, who knew his 


Lord's will, and yet transgressed it, who 
must ''be beaten with many stripes." 

The last universal sentiment of human nature 
which I shall mention as naturally finding 
expression in poetry, is devotion. No nation 
has ever been found so ignorant, so rude, and 
so barbarous as to be without it. The ex- il 
istence of a creating and superintending 
Power comes so near a necessary intuition of ,; 
the human mind, that it may to all practical j 
purposes be considered as such. All that we \\ 

: t 

see around us, and all that we feel within us, ;! 

I j 
bears testimony to the presence and agency ji 

of an Infinite Spirit, whose perfections are 

equally disclosed by the greatest and the 

least of his works, the spangled heavens 

which shine upon us by night, and the insect 

which floats upon the breeze. That Power, 

from the very condition of his being, sustains 

a near relation to every human soul. When 

the idea of God is once formed, it becomes 

in the highest degree poetic. To the Creator 

of all things we gradually transfer all the 

grandeur and beauty of the material world, 

and whatever of dignity and excellence there 

is in our spiritual being, till at length he sits 

enthroned amid the splendors of the universe. 


And pur natural conceptions of bira canBot 
perhaps be better expressed than in the 
words of a modern poet, 

"Thou art, O God, the Hfe and hght 
Of all this wondrous world we see : 

Its glow by day, its smile by night. 
Are but reflections caught from thee : 

Wherever we turn, thy glories shine. 

And all things fair and bright are thrne. 

" When day with farewell beam delays. 
Among the opening clouds of even. 

And we can almost think we gaze 
Through golden vistas into heaven. 

Those hues that mark the sun's decKne, 

So soft, so radiant. Lord, are thine. 

'* When night, with wings of starry gloom, 
O'ershadows all the earth and skies. 

Like some dark, beauteous bird, whose plume 
Is sparkling with a thousand eyes. 

That sacred gloom, those fires divine. 

So grand, so countless, Loi-d, are thine. 

" When youthful spring around us breathes. 
Thy spirit warms her fragrant sigh. 

And every flower the summer wreathes. 
Is born beneath that kindling eye; 

Where'er we turn, thy glories shine. 

And all things fair and bright are thine.'* 



But it is to divine revelation that we are 
indebted for the sublimest strains of devotional 
poetry. Without supernatural aid the human 
mind would never have attained to those pure 
and elevated ideas of the Deity which give 
the Psalms their surpassing beauty and sub- 
limity. The Hebrew prophets, besides being 
the religious instructers of mankind, stand 
apart and on high in the literature of the 
world. Like the pyramids of Egypt, they are 
th-e imperishable monuments of another age, 
I constituting not only the wonder of all time, 

i but the inexhaustible treasure from which their 


successors have drawn their richest materials, 
as those vast structures of Egyptian art might 
serve as quarries from which half a score of 
modern cities might be built. As they were 
the brightest emanations of poetic and divine 
inspiration united, so has their power over 
the human mind and heart been unapproached. 
In them the soul in all a^es has found the 
most adequate expression of its highest con- 
ceptions of the Invisible, the Infinite, the 
Eternal, of whose greatness and glory all 
human language is but a whisper and a 
breath. Take, for instance, a description of 
a thunder storm by David, and you imme- 

22* ~~ 


diately find yourself in regions of sublimity 
far above the flight of any profane poet. 

'' Give unto the Lord, O ye mighty. 
Give unto the Lord glory and strength. 
Give unto the Lord, the glory due unto hira ; 
Worship the Lord in the beauty of holiness. 

" The voice of the Lord is upon the waters : 
The God of glory thundereth ; 
The Lord is upon many waters. 
The voice of the Lord is powerful ; 
The voice of the Lord is full of majesty. 
The voice of the Lord breaketh the cedars ; 
Yea, the Lord breakeih the cedars of Lebanon. 
He maketh them also to skip like a calf; 
Lebanon and Sirion like a young unicorn. 

" The voice of the Lord divideth the flames of fire. 
The voice of the Lord shaketh the wilderness ; 
The Lord shaketh the wilderness of Kadesh. 
The Lord sitteth upon the flood j 
Yea, the Lord sitteth King for ever. 

"The Lord wiU give strength unto his people; 
The Lord will bless his people with peace." 

How congenial the Psalms are to the deep 
and universal devotional sentiments of the heart, 
every well read, and well worn Bible is a 
witness. Next to the precious pages which 


contain the words of eternal life, those will 
bear the marks of having been most often 
resorted to for light, and strength, and comfort, 
which are written over with the sublime and 
fervid aspirations of the sacred poets of Judea. 
And they have served as models for piety in 
all succeeding times, as has been well said 
by a living poet : 

"Sweet harp of Judah ! shall thy sound 
No more be heard on earthly ground. 
Nor mortal raise the lay again. 
That rung through Judah's sainted reign? 

'•'Yet harp of Judah! rung thy strain. 
And woke thy glories not in vain ; 
Yet, though in dust thy frame be hurl'd. 
Thy spirit rules a wider world. 

" Though faintly swell thy notes subhme ; 
Far distant — down the stream of time ; 
Yet, to our ears the sounds are given ; 
And even thy echo tells of heaven. 

"Through worlds remote — the old — the new; 
Through realms nor Rome nor Israel knew; 
The Christian hears — and by thy tone. 
Sweet harp of Judah, tunes his own." 

lecture; IX. 

4 * ♦ » » 


HE subjects to which I have 
hitherto directed your atten- 
tion have been of a practical 
and popular character. You 
have followed me with ease, 
if not with profit, for I have 
touched on nothing deep or 
abstruse. I am in this lec- 
ture to treat a subject a 
little more abstract, thouorh 
in the end quite as practical 
as any which I have pre- 
sented, The Moral Constitu- 
tion of Man. I do it by 
way of experiment, that I 
may discover how far an audience composed 
of all ages and both sexes may be interested 
in a psychological investigation. 

The existence of a moral nature in man is 


early demoDstrated by the rise of the con- 
sciousnesS;, on doing certain actions; "This 
is right ; I am justified and meritorious in 
doing it." And on another occasion, "This 
is wrong, I am guilty if I do it, and I 
cannot look on my own conduct with appro- 
bation." This power of distinguishing right 
and wrong, and its involuntary exercise is 
one of the elementary principles of the human 
mind. Wherever there is a perfect human 
soul, there this faculty is developed. The 
child, the first time that it tells a falsehood, 
feels compunction, feels that it has done wrong, 
it cannot tell why. What account is to be 
given of this fact ? Does it see the reasons 
why it is wrong ? By no means. It has had 
no experience of the evils which the isolation 
of truth brings upon society, and finally 
upon the fabricator himself. All we can say 
of it is, that it is the will of the Creator, 
that such a feeling should spring up in the 
human mind as soon as the faculty of speech 
is developed, as a guard against the abuse 
of that faculty. We can truly say then, that 
it is a moral instinct implanted by God in 
the human soul, I know no reason why we 
should withhold from it this appellation. It 


ought to rank with the filial affection, or the 
desire of society, which is developed much 
later, but the rudiments of which must have 
been created within us, or we could never 
have known what it was. The Almighty, in 
creating man, foresaw all the conditions and 
relations in which he was to be placed, and 
he gave him every power and faculty neces- 
sary to fit him for every relation which he 
was ever to sustain. God's universe is one 
perfect whole, every part of which is fitted 
to every other part. He created the ocean, 
the element of water, and likewise fish to 
live, and breathe, and swim in it. The my- 
riads of embryo fish, which are formed every 
year, before they have imparted to them the 
principle of animal life, before they have 
touched the element in which they are after- 
wards to have their existence, have the tiny 
rudiments of lungs by which they are to draw 
vitality from the water, and the outline of 
those fins, which are one day to bear them 
with wonderful velocity through the waves. 
Go to the bird's nest, and you will there see 
the same prospective adaptation. The bones 
which form within those dark and rounded 
walls have precisely that combination of strength 


and lightness which fits them to be the frame 
of a body upborne on the thin and yielding 
atmosphere, every feather is a miracle of 
wisdom considered with reference to warmth, 
and strength; and buoyancy, and beauty. In 
every animal there is a third correspondent, 
which resides in its spiritual part, that some- 
thing, whatever it is, which bears the same 
relation to the animal that the soul does to 
man, an instinct which immediately prompts 
it to betake itself to the element for which 
it was formed, the fish to the sea, and the 
bird to the air. So I know no reason for 
doubting that the same Omniscient Mind, which 
created man for society, and predetermined 
to give him speech and reason, gave him 
likewise an instinctive moral law for the 
government of speech, a regard for truth. 
He thus established a higher communion than 
can take place among the inferior orders of 
creation, and made truth the basis of that 
communion, and absolutely essential to the 
well being of society. 

It was necessary that it should be instinct- 
ive, otherwise it would come too late. Reason 
and experience were not to be developed 
sufficiently early for the safety of society. It j 




would have been fatal to man's social well 
being to have permitted each generation to 
learn by a succession of disastrous experi- 
ments that it is necessary to speak the truth. 
The obligation of truth then may be set down 
as one of the moral instincts of man, an 
ultimate fact which cannot be resolved into 
any law more simple, or into any other prin- 
ciple. All we can say of it is, that such is 
the will of God, that on the development of 
the powers of reason and speech, every 
human beinof should feel the oblioration of 
speaking the truth, and should feel reproached 
and humiliated when he violates it. As it is 
a moral instinct with regard to ourselves, so it 
is a moral sentiment with respect to others. 
It is impossible for us to regard another who 
has violated the truth with moral approba- 
tion. We cannot help feeling for him a 
hearty contempt. As no sophistry can alto- 
gether excuse us to ourselves for violating 
the truth, so no apology can restore another 
who has violated it to our entire esteem. 

It is because God has made this moral 
instinct and sentiment so strong within us, 
that the accusation of falsehood has ever been 
esteemed the ground of deadly quarrel. It 


is a stain, which among men who stand 
upon points of honor, can only be washed 
away with blood. 

But stronor as this instinct and sentiment 
are, they do no more than correspond to the 
magnitude of the interests which they are 
intended to secure. The general allecriance 
of the human mind to truth is the basis of 
most of our knowledge. Were it not for 
this, the history of the past, which is now to 
us an accumulated treasure of wisdom, would 
be altogether useless. As it is now, in spite 
of the bias of interest, passion, and pre- 
judice, it is mainly a representation of facts 
as they were. Men have felt in all acres that 
speech was given them to utter the thinor 
that was true, and not the thinor that was 
false ; and, however feeling may have inclined 
the historian to misrepresent, the instinct and 
the sentiment of truth would not allow 
him materially to distort the transactions of 
past ages. 

Truth is absolutely necessary for the gene- 
ral management of the business of society. 
It is by this alone that the most distant na- 
tions are able to carry on commerce with 
each other. They are able to do so only 



because they can depend on their mutual 
representations. Indeed it is the instinct of 
truth, which enables man to be a social 
being at all. Were this instinct at any 
moment to cease, society would be broken 
up. The merchant, when he opened his let- 
ters, would be no wiser as to his business 
than he was before, he could do nothing in 
consequence of their contents. The news- 
paper, wet from the printing press, would be 
thrown away, for there would be no security 
that every article in it was not false. The 
stranger would ask no question of the citi- 
zen, because he would probably be misin- 

It is this primitive and universal instinct 
of the obligation of truth, which lies at the 
foundation of the sanctity of an oath, an 
usage so universal that it may be considered 
as an institution of Nature. The ceremony 
and formality of an oath can put nothing 
into the soul of man which was not there 
before. It can only call up and put in exer- 
cise principles that were already there. These 
principles, and they both may be considered 
instinctive, are the absolute obligation of truth, 
and the existence of an Omniscient and 


Omnipotent Being to vindicate it. The uni- 
versal existence and use of oaths prove in- 
contestibly that man is by nature not only a 
moral but a religious being. 

It may be said, by those who deny that 
there are any such things as moral instincts, 
that the feeling of obligation to speak the 
truth arises from the foresight of the evil 
consequences which would spring from vio- 
lating it, in short that men speak the truth 
only because it is their interest to do so. But 
every human being is conscious, if he watches 
the operations of his own mind, that this is 
not the fact. Oblis^ation and interest are not 
identical in the human mind. The interest 
is an after thought. Just as truly might you 
say that the mother embraces her babe with 
transports of tenderness, because she sees how 
necessary it will be for her support in her old 
age. That this may be the purpose of the 
Deity in implanting the love that is stronger 
than death, we do not deny, but that it is 
the cause of the affection is altogether pre- 
posterous. That reason may afterwards give 
steadiness to the instinct we allow, that fore- 
sight may afterwards and in some degree add 
a new motive to parental assiduity may be a 


fact. So, that the conviction of the utility 
of truth may affect some minds, and make 
them more scrupulous in its utterance, may be 
equally true, but that it is the original ground 
of obligation is totally false. 

The next moral instinct which is developed 
is that of property. It was necessary for 
the individual and social well being of man, 
that each individual should appropriate cer- 
tain thinfjs to himself. Were not this the 
case we could never take any interest in any 
thing. That we ought to enjoy the fruits of 
our own labor, is an ultimate conviction, for 
which no reason can be given but that such is 
the will of God. The same principle applies 
to our persons, our faculties, our liberty, our 
labor. God has given us certain things, 
hence we feel that we have a right to them. 
Let a parent give each of his children a 
piece of bread. The instinctive feeling of 
each one is, that the instant it is given, he 
has a right to it. If one wrests away from 
another his piece, he feels himself not only 
robbed, . but wronged. His outcries will de- 
velope his moral sentiments. His sorrow 
for the loss will be touched and modified by 
grief and indignation at the injustice that is 


done him. All we can say of it is, that such 
is the will of God. He has implanted in the 
human mind an instinct of property, a sense 
of right to certain things, which he gives to 
each individual. So let one of these children 
make a baby-house, she feels that it is hers, 
just as much as an estate or an empire. Let 
another attempt to tear it down, she stands 
up in its defence, borne out by this instinct 
of property, w^hich justifies her in the use of 
almost any means of resistance. If she is 
vanquished she feels wronged, so strong and 
instinctive is the feeling of property. But 
her own mind is not the only one which de- 
velopes a moral instinct, and declares that she 
has been wronged. It is impossible for the 
assailant to view the matter in any other 
light. The same instinct which told the 
builder that the baby-house was hers, likewise 
told the destroyer that it was not hers, and 
that she violated a right when she destroyed 
it. Let one of these children attempt to 
force the other to do any thing, merely by 
the exercise of will, without reason and 
-without authority, and the attempt is re- 
sisted not merely on the ground of will, but 
on the ground of right. Thus the same in- 



stinct which teaches me what is mine, teaches 
me too what is tliine. The instinct of property 
then, is just as powerful a teacher of the rights 
of others, as our own, shows us at the same 
moment what we ourselves rightfully claim, and 
what we owe to others, teaches us at the same 
time right and duty. 

This instinct of property and right, though 
at first sight seeming a narrow and selfish 
one, has been the source of almost all the 
good that mankind has ever achieved. The 
world was once a wilderness, and man in a 
state of nakedness and destitution. It was 
the idea of exclusive possession and enjoyment, 
which led him to fell the forest and enclose 
the field. It was only the feeling that he alone 
would have a rio^ht to inhabit the cottaore 
which he had built, that first stimulated him 
to prepare a shelter from the rude elements. 
Had it not been for this instinct of property, 
all the noble powers of the human intellect 
would have been given to man in vain. He 
would have wandered about the world like 
the dumb animals, the same from age to age, 
never appropriating any thing to himself, or 
laboring for its improvement. It would have 
been in vain that he had given him the noble 




power of reason, which enables him to adapt 
means to ends, to form long plans, and then 
pursue them with steadiness, industry and 
perseverance. He would never have exercised 
that power, if the result of his labors had 
been utterly indifferent w^hen they were fin- 
ished. By giving man the instinct of property, 
which is gratified by possession even, without 
reference to use, man was roused from the 
indolence and destitution of the savage, and 
surrounded with all the rich blessings of 
civilized and cultivated life. It was this that 
stimulated agricultural industry, the beginning 
of all advancement. What human being would 
have cauorht and tamed the animals which are 
now domestic, if he could have no sense of 
property in them afterward, to use them for 
his own advantage ? 

The same instinct of property extends to 
our liberty and our faculties. Every man feels 
that they are naturally and absolutely his. On 
the same principle whatever they achieve or 
acquire is his likewise. Hence the activity 
and inventions of the artisan. Hence those 
wonderful machines which ingenuity first found 
out for private gain, but which have in the 
end spread plenty and happiness over the 




earth, when their authors have been forgotten 
in the dust. It was the instinct of property, 
the desire to acquire and possess, which first 
gave birth to commercial enterprise, which 
constructed the ship and sent her on voyages 
of discovery to distant and unknown shores. 
But we now come to a still higher achieve- 
ment of the instinct of property. It was this 
and this alone which gave rise to government, 
itself one of the most powerful aids to human 
advancement. The instincts of truth and jus- 
tice are not the only principles of human 
nature, nor yet benevolence, which is another 
principle that engages a man to do the thing 
that is right. These endowments, which I 
have already mentioned, enable man to see 
what he ought to do, and incline him to do 
it, and would always persuade him were there 
no other motives of action within him. But 
the desire of possession, which accompanies 
the instinct of property, may be indulged to 
the neglect of the sense of justice, which it 
begets. Ther^ are certain desires implanted 
within us, which correspond to certain out- 
ward things calculated in their own nature to 
gratify those desires. Those desires spring up 
independently of our wills. They are of 


course so far innocent. We see food, deli- 
cious fruits perhaps, and it is impossible for 
us to prevent the appetite from becoming 
excited. But instantly the instinct of pro- 
i perty comes up and suggests to us, that it is 
i not ours, and immedia'tely checks the desire and 
j prevents us from being willing to act accord- 
I ing to the suggestions of appetite. But it is 
I altogether in the power of our will to choose 
i which of these suggestions we will follow, that 
• of appetite, or the instinct of property. We 
may siitle the suggestions of the sense of 
justice, and encourage the appetite for fruit, till 
at last we determine that we will gratify the 
appetite at the expense of the moral sense. 
Then every man feels that he commits sin. 
And sad experience proves in every com- 
munity that the moral sense is not strong 
enouofh to induce men to do riaht. Wliat 
is then to be done ? The first attempt is for 
each individual to defend what he feels to be 
right by force. That however, will not suc- 
ceed, for the wrong doer may be physically 
stronger than the defender of the riorht. But 
what one man cannot do, many can. Many 
individuals combine to defend the ri^ht against 
any one who chooses to violate it. They get 



together and consult that universal moral 
nature which God has given to them all, and 
write out a list of those primary impressions 
of right which God has inscribed on all their 
hearts, and agree to stand by them ; and this 
is the oriarin of laws. But as the whole 
community must have something else to do 
beside standing under arms to keep each other 
in order, they delegate this office of seeing 
that those primitive rights are enforced to a 
few, whom they clothe with sufficient power 
to accomplish the purpose. Thus it is that law 
and government are only the living expression 
and enforcement of those moral instincts, which 
are some of the constituent elements of the 
human soul. Thus it is that orovernment is 
called in the Scriptures, and the language of 
the world, an institution of God. Hooker, in 
his Ecclesiastical Polity, thus speaks of law : 
" Her seat is the bosom of God, her voice 
is the harmony of the world; all things in 
heaven and earth do her homage, the very 
least as feeling her care, and the greatest as 
not exempt from her power." It was in 
accordance with this apprehension of things 
that kings of old were called the children of 
the gods. In our own Sacred Writings they 



are called gods, and sons of God, because 
they are the ministers of that justice, which 
is God's, which went forth originally from 
his throne, and after penetrating and governing 
all things, comes back to perch for ever upon 
his sceptre. 

Government is the means which, under the 
guidance of Providence, mankind have adopted 
for the enforcement of the moral instincts, 
and it is perfect when it enables every man 
to enjoy his own, what God has given him, 
in security and peace. A good government 
therefore is one of the greatest earthly bles- 
sings. It gives the widest scope to the 
human faculties. It invites and encourages 
man to put forth his highest energies, and 
placing no bar to his exertions, enables him 
to produce the greatest results. Under a good 
government a people advance with giant 
strides along the road of improvement. They 
are strong, prosperous, and contented. God 
intended mankind for prosperity and content- 
ment, he put his moral law within their 
hearts to accomplish that purpose. 

But it unfortunately happens that govern- 
ments may prove false to the purpose for 
which they were created. They may through 


mistake misinterpret the law written on the 
heart, or through corruption bend it to their 
own purposes ; and thus power conferred to do 
good may become irresistible to do wrong. 
Good laws may be badly executed, or not 
executed at all. Or they may be incumbered 
by so many useless forms as to cost more 
than they are worth, or be attended with so 
much delay as altogether to defeat the ends 
of justice. Thus that which was intended by 
God as the greatest blessing, when perverted 
becomes the greatest curse. Abuses of govern- 
ment are of all things most difficult to cor- 
rect. They become so fixed by habit and 
prescription that it is next to impossible to 
shake them off. So far are governments often- 
times from being the executives of the dictates 
of the moral sense, the purpose for which 
they were appointed, that they arm the moral 
sense of mankind aorainst them, and the whole 
people rise in their might and put them down, 
and re-assert and re-establish the primitive laws 
of moral rectitude. 

It is saddening to contemplate the infinite 
miseries, which have been heaped upon man- 
kind by bad government. Think of the mil- 
lions who live, and have lived in Asia, not 


one of whom has ever known what good li 
government is. What is, bad and unjust as 
it is, has become so fastened upon the people 
as to shut out of their conceptions what 
ouo[ht to be. The actual has been so lonof 
inculcated, and so long acquiesced in, that 
it has taken the place of the just, those pri- 
mitive and natural ideas of right, which 
God originally stamped upon the soul of 

To secure the performance of the right as 
v/ell as the perception of it, God has im* 
planted in the human heart besides the sense 
of justice, the feeling of benevolence. As 
he has given us peculiar affections towards 
our nearest relatives to secure the perform- 
ance of necessary duties, such as the paren- 
tal and the filial tie, so has he given us a 
feeling to correspond to our relations to the 
whole species, but fainter in intensity be* 
cause the duties it secures are less imperious 
and indispensable. We naturally Wish w^ell 
to the whole human family. Where there is 
no conflict of interest, no previous injury or 
prejudice, we had rather learn that any 
human being is in health, prosperity, and 
happiness, than hear that he is sick, or in 


24 ~~ 


misfortune, or misery. That the final pur- 
pose of this may not be mistaken, it is found 
that this feeling increases or diminishes in 
direct proportion to the nearness or the dis- 
tance of the object. Sympathy, which seems 
to be a sort of involuntary benevolence, 
obeys the same laws, and springs up with 
an intensity precisely proportionate to our 
opportunity to relieve the afflicted. We read 
that a whole city is swallowed up by an 
earthquake on another continent,- — and we 
are slightly moved it is true, but by no means 
'violently excited. But let us hear that our 
friend's house is on fire at the other end of 
the town, and we are on our feet, and on our 
way to assist him, before we are aware. 
That there is such a principle as benevolence 
in the human heart for species, is demon- 
strated every day. It is shown by the spe- 
cies of eloquence which is most efficient in 
eliciting charity. It is by no appeals to the 
reason as to its propriety, or to the con- 
science as to its obligation, that the solicitor 
succeeds. It is by a plain statement of the 
case, by a moving picture of distress. Then 
the miser's grasp is unclosed, which was only 
clenched the firmer while reason and con- 


science pleaded the cause. These two feel- 
ings, of benevolence and sympathy, which 
together may be denominated humanity, are 
a strong auxiliary to the sense of justice in 
restraining the impulses of the desires, the 
appetites, and the passions, which are excited 
by all objects alike that are calculated to 
gratify them, without reference to the pro- 
priety or the impropriety of their indulgence. 
It is often complained that these feelings are 
no stronger. I believe that what they want 
is not greater intensity, but better direction. 
God knew best what relative strength to 
give them. And it is now found that, weak 
as they are, they are sometimes turned into 
a channel, which injures rather than benefits 
mankind. Those immense charitable estab- 
lishments, which modern philanthropy has 
raised up, are found after all to nurse the 
very evil which they are intended to cure. 

So strong and so prevailing is this feeling 
of humanity in the human breast, that it was 
necessary to establish there an antagonist 
passion, to suspend and reverse its operations 
on certain occasions, and that is the passion 
of resentment, as it w^ere, a rough and iron- 
hearted executioner of the stern awards of 



justice. Were benevolence always opera- 
tive, man could not carry out the judgments 
of his moral nature, could not repel injury, 
nor exercise that retribution which the Al- 
mighty has delegated to him for the govern- 
ment of the world. As long as God governs 
man by man, so long must there be such a 
thing as punishment. And in order to secure 
punishment there must be such a feeling as 
resentment, which suspends while it lasts the 
general feeling of good will which is innate 
and permanent within us. The knowledge 
of its existence, of its certain, unerring and 
inexorable exercise, exerts an immeasurable 
restraining influence upon the conduct of 
mankind, and ties up the hand from wrong 
in a thousand cases where the dictates of 
the moral sense would be totally disregarded. 
But it is wisely and kindly provided that it 
should be occasional and temporary, not per- 
manent and abiding, like the more amiable 
sentiment which it is intended to suspend. 
And the generous mind, although it cannot 
prevent the feeling from springing up on the 
occurrence of injury, is disposed to carry it 
no further than to repel aggression and to 
obtain redress, then suffers it to pass as soon 



as possible away, and buries the remembrance 
of it in perpetual oblivion. 

Another auxiliary of the moral instincts 
in the government which God exerts over 
mankind, through each other, is the sense of 
shame. Its power is tremendous, irresistible, 
overwhelming. No man can stand before it, 
and it is capable in this world of inflicting 
the pains of hell. We are created with a 
strong desire of the esteem and good opinion 
of our fellow men. No discipline can make 
us indifferent to the opinions of others. When 
we have done wrong, the reproaches of our 
own conscience are hard enough to bear. If 
we had no other punishment most of our of- 
fences would be amply avenged. Buf the 
idea that others entertain as bad an opinion 
of us as we do ourselves, is often altogether 
insupportable. As a general principle, it 
may be asserted, that disgrace is more terri- 
ble than oruilt. And this fear becomes more 
and more intense as mankind become more 
cultivated and delicate in their moral sensi- 
bilities. This sentiment lays the foundation 
for that omnipotent engine of moral influence, 
public opinion, which perhaps does more to 
keep the world under the laws of the moral 


instincts than every thing else put together. 
A man may endure the secret reproaches of 
his own conscience, but the frown of the uni- 
versal soul of humanity is more than he can 
bear. And the Almighty, whose prerogative 
it is to brinor ffood out of evil, makes use of 
bad men and bad passions to accomplish 
ends most beneficial to society. The moral 
judgments of good and bad men are the 
same with respect to the vices of others, even 
though the bad man may be guilty of the 
same himself And even malignity and cen- 
soriousness God uses as whips and scorpions 
to scourge and keep in order the unprincipled 
and rebellious. This invisible, inappreciable, 
but irresistible power of public opinion be- 
comes the executive and the guardian of 
that portion of the original moral instincts of 
humanity which has never been written, nor 
taken the shape of formal law. A very small 
part only of the moral instincts of the human 
mind, have ever been enacted into express 
statutes, because no political authority could 
enforce them. A man may be very bad and 
still subject himself to no legal animadver- 
sion ; but he does not therefore escape. 
Though he go into no court, and be convicted 


of no crime, and receive the condemnation of 
no judge, there is a judge which condemns 
him in every breast for the slightest aberra- 
tion. And of the thousand actions we see 
done every day, nine hundred and ninety nine 
are influenced by regard to opinion where 
there is one influenced by regard for law. 

Here then is another way, besides that of 
law and government, by which the moral in- 
stincts are made to react upon man and upon 
society, to restrain, elevate and purify it. 
Tliat public opinion itself is constantly under- 
going the process of elevation and purifica- 
tion. In this respect it has the advantage 
over laws, which when once written down, 
are apt to remain when society has outgrown 
them. Public opinion is amended and im- 
proved without any difliculty or formality. 
The fate of the bad man, the happiness of 
the good, the counsels of the wise, and tlie 
words of the eloquent, are ever operating to 
enlighten and strengthen public opinion in 
favor of all that is good, and in condemnation 
of all that is bad. 

But here a difficulty may suggest itself to 
some, how can an instinct be enlightened or 
strenc-thened ? Is it not the very nature of 


an instinct to be uniform and unchanging ? 
Is it not its very purpose to supply the place 
of reason and experience ? How then can 
reason and experience improve it? And 
here it is that the two great schools of moral 
science have divided, one referring the moral 
sense altogether to reason and experience, 
and the other to primitive and instinctive 

In my opinion both are right, and both are 
wrong, or rather as in most similar cases, 
neither party has taken in the whole truth. 
A moral instinct or intuition must be im- 
planted within us by the benevolent Creator 
for our good, and must coincide with the ab- 
solute right of things, since the same all-wise 
Beinff constituted the mind who constituted 
the circumstances in which it was to be 
placed. Reason and experience will per- 
ceive that coincidence between the instinct 
and the fitness of things and the best interests 
of man, and will of course strengthen the 
sense of obligation to obey the instinct. But 
no reason, and no foresight of interest can 
explain the peculiar feeling of obligation, 
which springs up in the mind on the first pre- 
sentation of certain moral acts. Reason and 


experience will more and more confirm the 
obligation of truth, but can never explain the 
sense of guilt, and shame, and fear, with 
which the first violation of truth is accom- 

Then there are details of duty and artificial 
relations of society, which are not anticipated 
in those moral intuitions. The sense of ob- 
ligation with regard to them is elaborated 
solely by reason and experience, but it is 
out of materials previously existing in the 
mind. For after all, the power to see what 
is right, which resides in reason and experi- 
ence, with regard to many duties, is altogether 
different from the feelincr of obligation to do 
it, which is an independent principle in the 
mind, and seems to lie farther back and 
deeper than reason itself. 

The sense of oblifration to do what is ri^ht 
is itself an intuition, an ultimate fact, which 
cannot be resolved into any principles more 
simple. It is so because God has willed it. 

Thus you perceive that public opinion, 
which is the aggregate moral sense of man- 
kind, and the means of enforcing the moral 
convictions of the soul of man, is itself 
continually undergoing the process of refine- 



merit. Experience is accumulating, knowledge 
is increasing and more and more diffused, the 
reason of mankind is becoming daily more 
and more developed. Thus the grounds of 
obligation are becoming better and better 
known. New force is added to the moral 
instincts as the reasons for which they were 
implanted become more and more understood, 
as the eye of reason sees farther and farther 
into the social mischiefs which they were in- 
tended to prevent. Those conventional wrongs 
too, which reason alone perceives, become 
more and more glaring the more they are 
examined, the more they are investigated. 
Vice after vice comes under the scrutiny of 
the public eye, and becomes blacker as it is 
contemplated, till at last it is frowned out of 
being. This process is destined, I believe, to 
go on with accelerated activity. This great 
office of enlightening and refining public opin- 
ion devolves on Education and the Press. 
Already great progress has been made since 
the invention of printing, every year is marked 
by some achievement, some inroad made into 
the ancient and undisputed dominions of sin. 
But there is one element of the moral 
nature of man which we merely touched upon. 


but did not pursue, yet which when developed, ; 
leads to conclusions of the last importance i 
to human condition and destinv. The violation 
of the primitive moral instincts is accompanied | 
not only by a sense of guilt and shame, but J 
likewise of fear. All is not right, and some- I 
thing bad must come of it. Nor is this fear i 
annihilated by the certainty of earthly impunity. 
It comes up in the desert solitude, and in 
the darkness of the night, and seems to 
prophesy some future unknown retribution. 
This fear has no reference to any thing in 
this world, and no account can be given of 
it except that it is the will of the Deity, 
that it should spring up in the mind. This 
fear leads directly to religion, for it is impos- 
sible for man to believe that his Maker would 
deceive him. There must be some reality to 
which it corresponds, and of which it is the 
warning. So when a man obeys the moral 
instinct, particularly if at the expense of 
sacrifice or danger, faith and hope immediately 
spring up in his bosom. He feels assured 
that however present appearances may be 
against it, the time will come when he shall 
reap a rich reward. That hope and faith he 
feels to be the voice of God approving the 


present and promising the future. That shame 
and fear is likewise the voice of God, con- 
demning the present, and threatening all ill 
to the future. These universal and unalterable 
sentiments of the human heart, reveal the 
moral attributes of the Deity. That vice is 
really culpable, is a conviction that we have, 
merely because it is his will. We cannot 
doubt it, for a belief in the veracity and 
goodness of God is equally instinctive and 
necessary. Our instinctive persuasion of his 
veracity is the undoubted ground of our ex- 
pectation that he will reward and punish us. 
Thus our religious convictions grow out of 
our moral natures, and thus the convictions 
of our moral nature receive an Almighty 
sanction. He, who made us, made all things. 
He, who created us, sustains all things. He 
who made our souls, upholds and guides all 
their operations. He is the ever present Wit- 
ness, the Judge and Rewarder. 

Here then comes in a new moral power, 
that of religious conviction, of greater strength 
than either of the preceding, to enforce the 
moral instincts and sentiments of mankind, 
and thus to purify and elevate them. There 
are besides, certain sentiments in the human 



heart which immediately spring up toward this 
august Being, such as reverence and gratitude, 
and demand expression. Times are set apart 
for the purpose, and ceremonies invented. 
An order of men springs up, consecrated to 
conduct these ceremonies, to make what may 
be known of God and our relations to him, 
the moral and relio-ious nature of man, their 
peculiar study. At set times, and in various 
manners, they teach the result of their inves- 
tigations to the people. In all Christian 

countries all oriofinal investiofation on these i! 

subjects is rendered unnecessary and is su- i, 

perseded by the possession of a Divine Rev- !l 
elation, in which all the truths of religion 
are laid down in wiser words than man's 
wisdom teacheth, and enforced, moreover, by 
an authority which no human demonstration 
could possibly attain, the authority of miracu- 
lous interposition. Temples are built where 
God is worshipped, and these truths are 
statedly taught. Thus the religious element of 
our nature is brought to act upon the moral 
with an intensity which casts all other influences 
into the shade, and the Pulpit has become the 
great, the divinely appointed instrument of the 
elevation and moral progress of mankind. 




Such then is the moral nature of man. It 
contains within itself the elements of the 
perpetual advancement of the species. It 
expresses itself in law, public opinion, reli- 
gious institutions, and these in turn give 
freedom to his faculties, security to his pos- 
sessions, control over his baser propensities, 
and wider and wider command over the 
resources of nature. Thus it is that politics, 
morals, and religion are the great topics of 
human interest. Legislation, education, reli- 
gious instruction, are the objects which the 
philanthropist must ever keep in his eye. The 
Laws, the Press, and the Pulpit, — in them 
rests the ultimate hope of man. Legislation, 
Literature, and the Bible, — their influence is 
progressive and irresistible. They are all parts 
of one system, devised by Infinite Wisdom, 
to secure the temporal and eternal well being 
of mankind. The ministry do not labor alone 
for human good. The sage in his closet, the 
philosopher in his laboratory, the philanthropist 
in the public assembly, the author at his desk, 
the editor at the press, the judge in the court 
of justice, the professor in the halls of science, 
are all co-workers in the same great cause of 
human comfort, improvement, and happiness. 



HE last lecture was devoted 
to the investigation of the 
Moral Constitution of Man. 
That discussion led us to the 
conclusion that man's moral 
nature ievelopes itself in the 
form ot law, of public opin- 
ion, and religious institutions. 
These in turn react upon his 
individual character and his 
social condition, continually 
elevating them to higher de- 
grees of purity and perfection. 
I spoke of religious insti- 
tutions as springing out of 
man's moral nature, because it is man's moral 
nature alone which makes God known as 
the Lawgiver, the Judge, and Rewarder. By 
reason he is made known as the Creator, 
Preserver, and Benefactor. But these rela- 


tions constitute too faint a tie to be the 
foundation of religious institutions. They say 
nothing of futurity, and were there no belief 
in immortality, all religion would fall to the 
ground. It is only the feeling of responsi- 
bility created by man's moral nature, and the 
natural expectation of immortality, modified 
by the fear of punishment and the hope of 
reward, which keep alive religious investiga- 
tion, sustain worship and public instruction, 
and thus give force and sanction to man's 
moral convictions. 

Laws, public opinion, religion, — these are 
the means of human progress, the ultimate 
hope of man. As these improve, man will 
advance to higher degrees of perfection and 
happiness. If they are stationary, so will 
be the condition of the species. If they 
deteriorate, the hope of humanity is just 
so far eclipsed. We shall speak of them 
in their order, laws, public opinion, and 

It will not be necessary, I hope, to prove 
to such an audience as this, the immense 
influence of orovernment and legislation over 
the morality and prosperity of a people. It 
will only be necessary to illustrate it by 


examples. The physical prosperity of a peo- 
ple depends upon industry, guided by in- 
telligence, and secured by morality. Man 
will never act without a motive, and the 
most natural and powerful motive is the hope 
of enjoying the fruits of his labors. This 
certainty, or this hope is strong just in pro- 
portion to the goodness of the government 
under which we. live. Under a good govern- 
ment enterprise is kept perpetually upon the 
stretch. Every hand capable of producing 
is kept constantly at work, every brain capa- 
ble of contriving is kept continually em- 
ployed to invent new methods by which the 
productiveness of the earth may be increased, 
and by which the same labor may create 
more material for the satisfaction of human 
wants. There have been probably more labor 
saving machines invented in this country 
since the declaration of independence, than 
there were in the whole world since the 
beginning of time. A bad government para- 
lyzes all enterprise by extinguishing all hope. 
It puts an end to all invention by taking 
away all motive. It makes a people idle, 
vicious, discontented, miserable. Under a 
good government men work together with 

25* "~" 


intelligence and energy for the good of the 
whole. Under a bad government the few 
use the many as mere machines to accom- 
plish their own purposes, without regard 
to the general interest. Good government 
makes men, bad government makes slaves. 

As a people cannot prosper under a bad 
government, so a prosperous people is the 
indubitable evidence of a good government. 
If you see a man growing rich, you are cer- 
tain that there must be industry and good 
management. If you see a nation continue for 
ages rich and powerful, you are sure that it 
must have had good laws and wise institutions. 
Forms are not of so much consequence 
as it would at first sight appear. A despot, 
if he were perfectly wise and perfectly good, 
would form the best government. He would 
enact the best laws, and see that they were 
faithfully executed. And the best institutions, 
when administered by bad or incompetent 
men, may be made the means of ruining a 
nation. The welfare of a monarch, virtuous 
and enlightened, is so far identified with that 
of his people, that he has few temptations to 
go radically wrong. Perhaps the best code 
of municipal law, that tlie world has ever 


seen, was drawn up under the inspection of 
the most absolute sovereign of modern times« 
Legislation is a moral science, which has no 
connexion with any form of government. Its 
principles are partly those of abstract right, 
the primitive moral intuitions, and partly the 
rules of action which experience has demon- 
strated to be most beneficial to society. It 
is a science which can be elaborated only 
by the experience of ages, and can be per- 
fected only by the minutest statistical infor- 
mation. Has there ever been a form of 
government discovered, which secures the 
selection of wise, honest and competent legis- 
lators ? Supposing we establish a pure de- 
mocracy, and surrender legislation into the 
hands of the whole people in their primary 
assemblies, should we be sure of good laws 
and judicious policy ? Let the history of 
Athens bear witness. Let the banishment 
of Aristides, and the death of Socrates bear 
witness. What is worse than the tyranny 
of a mob ? What is worse than the domina- 
tion of demagogues in the name of the peo- 
ple ? Suppose then we adopt a Republic, in 
which the legislators are chosen by the peo- 
ple, is there then any security that those who 


are selected will have the requisite knowledge 
of the science of legislation ? Let our own 
statute books bear witness. The best lawyer 
will tell you that such is the ignorance and 
want of system in our state legislatures that 
a few years fill the courts with utter confu- 
sion, and make civil duty, which ought to 
be the plainest of all subjects, the most per- 
plexed. In a Republic, if the legislators be 
capable, is there any security that they will 
be honest? Certainly not, when the hall of 
leofislation is chancred into an arena of com- 
bat for the offices of the country, where ses- 
sion after session is consumed in plots and 
counterplots to retain power, or to oust the 
possessors. There you may see question after 
question decided by a strictly party vote, and 
of course law after law enacted with no refer- 
ence to abstract right, or the good of the 
country, but solely to the upholding or putting 
down the party in power. 

The very rotation in office, which is the 
boast of a Republic, though it may be the 
best on the whole, is decidedly a disadvantage 
to legislation. To b,e an accomplished legis- 
lator, requires the study of a life. It is 
certainly a more important office to make laws 


than to expound them. Would it be safe to 
adopt the principle of rotation in the office 
of the judge, and as soon as one set has 
become qualified for the duties of their station, 
to dismiss them, and supply their places from 
the ranks of the people ? Steadiness in legis- 
lation is quite as important as abstract right. 
A bad system steadily pursued is better than 
perpetual change. 

But am I a monarchist because I thus 
speak ? By no means. The subjection of the 
fortunes of millions of human beincrs to the 
caprice of one man, or to the chances of 
his character and disposition is a most ap- 
palling thought. It is a risk which no wise 
man would ever wish to run. That one man 
should have the power to prostrate the pros- 
perity of a great nation, is a state of things 
which every philanthropist would choose to 
avoid. Legislation is safer in the hands of 
many than of one, and safest in the hands 
of those whom a community choose as their 
wisest and their best. All I mean to say is, that 
even then it is liable to mistake and abuse. 

What is it but bad lecrislation that has 
brought on our country its present distress ? 
The states have borrowed millions from abroad. 



But this would be no evil if they had been 
properly expended. If they had been judi- 
ciously invested, and only so fast as they 
would become immediately productive, no evil 
would have come of it. They would have 
been a vast benefit to the country. As it is, 
the different lefjislatures have acted without 
sufficient scientific and statistical knowledge, 
without a knowledore either of the cost or the 
productiveness of public improvements ; they 
have sunk millions on millions of capital, and 
involved the country in debts which the present 
generation will not see discharged. I may 
be asked, if I think that the office of legis- 
lator would be any better discharged if it 
were conferred for life, or made hereditary ? 
I answer ; Not at all. The experiment has 
been tried sufficiently often. Nay, it is tried 
every year in the British Parliament. Nature's 
nobles sit there year after year beside the 
aristocracy of human creation, and while the 
wisdom and eloquence of the House of Com- 
mons fill the world with its fame, it is but 
rarely that a voice of power issues from the 
House of Lords, and then it usually comes 
from those who have fought their way there 
from the ranks of the people. 


I am not disheartened by any dim eclipse 
that may seem to have come over the pros- 
pects of Republican institutions. I believe they 
are the best that the wisdom of man has ever 
devised, and they will give human nature a fair 
trial, whether it be or be not able to arrive 
at and maintain a high degree of virtue and 

Mankind can grow wise only by experience. 
Every act of legislation is an experiment. It 
is tested by the suffering or the prosperity of 
the people. Faithful history, the records of 
courts and custom houses, furnish the result, 
and bring home the consequence to its cause. 
Every new experiment contributes to perfect 
the science of legislation, just as every suc- 
cessful voyage and every shipwreck alike con- 
tribute to make more complete the chart of 
the ocean, and render all future navigation 
more safe. 

The importance of statistics, which is no- 
thing more or less than the record of the 
good or ill effects of every law that goes 
into operation, is beginning to be appreciated. 
It is nothing but an accurate knowledge of 
things as they are, the physical, moral and 
religious condition of a people, the population, 


wealth, employments, productions, the habits, 
vices and crimes; the number who receive an 
intellectual and moral education. These things 
are the very basis of legislation, and without 
them laws are enacted at random, and no 
accurate knowledge can ever be obtained of 
their effects. Without this knowledge, I repeat 
it, legislators act in the dark. They may 
do good, but can never be sure of it; and 
the amount of mischief they may occasion 
will be for ever hid. It is the first duty of 
leirislators then, to ascertain from time to time 
the true condition of the people, to provide 
the means of obtaining from year to year, a 
tabular statement of all that exists, and of all 
that is done. Such a cour^^e would soon 
substitute the fiorures of Arithmetic for the 
figures of Rhetoric in our public harangues, 
and curtail witliin some reasonable limits those 
tiresome speeches which have become the 
opprobrium of our deliberative assemblies. 

It is experience alone which can ascertain 
the boundaries of the jurisdiction of positive 
law and public opinion. There are vices, nay, 
crimes which positive laws cannot correct, 
and the attempt to legislate upon them only 
makes the matter worse. Thus it is with the 


crime of intemperance, and it is nothing less. 
No tongue has ever yet told all its horrors. 
■ Thus in one of the States of the Union 
the temperance reformation, so long as its 
operations were carried on by the instrumen- 
tality of moral suasion and public opinion, 
went forward conquering and to conquer ; 
but the moment it sought legislative aid, 
that moment it fell prostrate, and there fol- 
lowed a melancholy recoil. Laws may follow, 
but they cannot anticipate public opinion by 
a single step. Legislative interference would 
have been proper and salutary, if the whole 
people had entertained the same moral convic- 
tions with their rulers : but until the thing had 
been brousfht home to the consciences of all, 
external force only enlisted the sense of per- 
sonal freedom and independence on the 
side of vice. 

But in spite of these mistakes, and indeed 
by the means of them, in part, I believe that 
legislation is continually improving, and is 
destined to become every year more perfect 
and effectual to secure the happiness and 
advancement of mankind. 

It is, however, after all, but a small part of 
men's moral conA'ictions that can ever take 

- I 


the form of written law. Much must remain 
unwritten, and then it takes the form of pub- 
lic opinion. But it is not less operative on 
that account. Its influence is more univer- 
sal, penetrating, and omnipresent. It is like 
the law of gravitation which unceasingly 
draws our bodies to the earth, or like the 
atmosphere we breathe, sustaining life while 
we are unconscious of its presence. To those 
who live in society it is inseparable from 
moral action. No action, even of the most 
trivial kind, can present itself to the mind 
without the accompanying reflection, what 
will be thought of it ? Who then can esti- 
mate the moral power of public opinion, 
when it thus is made to pass its judgment 
beforehand on almost every moral act before 
it is determined to be done ? How absolute 
its power is, may be learned in things in 
which it has not the support of the moral 
sentiments. It is shown in the despotism of 
fashion. Fashion is mere opinion, and tliere 
is a certain circle to whom is coiTceded the 
right of dictating that opinion. That is the 
constitution and laws of the fashionable 
world. These people have been placed in 
power by no formal election, they sit on no 


thrones, they promulg-ate no formal decrees, 
yet their will, emanating from some secret 
recess, spreads like the circling wave over the 
whole earth, till it absolutely reaches the 
circumference of the globe. 

This despotism of fashion is founded upon 
the strong desire we have for the respect and 
esteem of each other, and the fear, stronger 
than death, which we have of ridicule and 
contempt. And if opinion can be so power- 
ful in matters of mere indifference, how 
much more so may it be when backed by the 
moral sense. If people can be made to 
shrink with so much horror from the false 
position of a riband, how much more sensi- 
tive may they become to the imputation of 
moral turpitude! Fashion is factitious, it has 
no standard of ultimate appeal. Of course 
there is no approximation by change towards 
perfection. But there is a standard of moral- 
ity in the soul of man, and in the constitution 
of society, and every developement of the hu- 
man mind brings out more clearly the moral 
laws which were originally stamped upon it. 
Every year's experience is demonstrating more 
and more clearly that course of action which 
conduces most to human happiness. 


Let us then analyze public opinion, and 
discover if we can, in what manner it ope- 
rates upon the public morals. Public opinion 
is the aggregate opinions of those in any 
society who observe, and think, and reason, 
and express their sentiments. In a community 
profoundly ignorant there is no such thing as 
observation, reflection, or expression, and of 
course nothing which can be dignified by the 
name of public opinion. Men have eyes, but 
they see not. Ears have they, but they hear 
not. Minds have they, but they do not 
understand the things which are daily going 
on around them. Tiiey suflcr, but have not 
sufficient mental cultivation to trace the eflect 
to its cause. They are prosperous, and are 
equally ignorant of the sources whence their 
happiness springs. They are of course insen- 
sible to the merits and the demerits of their 
fellow citizens. They cherish and honor their 
worst enemies, and persecute and punish their 
greatest benefactors. But in tlkc midst of their 
guilt they receive our pity as well as our 
indignation, for they have the same excuse by 
which our Saviour extenuated the crime of 
his murderers, they know not what they do. 
At length there rises among them one who 


observes, and thinks, and reasons. He dis- 
covers truths, which before lay hid. He calls 
the attention of others to them, and makes 
them aware of their existence. He traces the 
sufferings of his fellow citizens to their cause, 
and becoming aware of the cause, they unite 
to remove it. He shows them the sources 
of their prosperity, and they unite to foster 
and extend them. For there is no stronger 
instinct in human nature than to follow the 
leadings of a superior mind. The homage, 
which men pay to such a mind, is not man 
worship, it is merely an acknowledgment of 
their allegiance to universal Reason. They 
defer to him because they perceive that he 
possesses much of what they all possess a 
little, that inspiration which giveth man under- 
standing. They receive and adopt his opinions 
partly because they are wise, and they can 
see the reasons upon which they are founded; 
and partly because they are his opinions, and 
are supposed therefore to rest on solid grounds. 
Thus a great mind has the power of creating 
public opinion, and this is the foundation of 
the greatest dominion that is exercised on 
earth. It was this which made the orators 
of Greece the real sovereigns of the state. 



To this power Demosthenes owed all his 
greatness. His eloquence for the time con- 
trolled public opinion, his mind became the 
animating soul of the state. Do we not see 
the same thina in our own times ? Do we 
not see whole States of this Union apparently 
under the influence of the mind of one man, 
and made to follow him in every vagary of 
opinion ? 

In ancient times the living voice was almost 
the only means of affecting public opinion. 
Books were few, and the power to read them 
confined to a small number. The wise man 
must not only be a thinker, but an orator, 
to exert an extensive influence. As societies 
became more enlightened, more individuals 
became thinkers and reasoners, and thus formed 
opinions of their own, and by discourse or 
writing, influenced the opinions of others, and 
thus helped to form public opinion. At length 
the invention of printing threw open this 
power to all. The eloquence of the pen 
became more powerful than that of the tongue, 
and the deep thinker and powerful reasoner 
might sway the opinions of a nation without 
leaving the quiet of his study. 

The invention of the art of printing may 


be said to have made the masses thinking 
beings, whereas before they had only the 
capacities of thought. To thought two con- 
ditions are necessary, a mind to think, and 
ideas to employ it upon. But how narrow 
his circle of ideas must ever be, who cannot, 
or who does not read ! His own short and 
circumscribed experience is all the material 
he possesses out of which to elaborate wisdom. 
Of the distant and the past he can know 
nothing, and about their transactions he can 
have no intelligent opinions. The art of print- 
ing has brought home to the meanest cottage, 
the materials of thought, has given the humblest 
the power of becoming acquainted with the 
distant and the past, and has thus given them 
I t'he means of making up a judgment on the 
I various subjects of human opinion. 
j While education, or the ability of thinking 
I was confined to a few, they had power to form 
I in a great measure, and consequently to mis- 
j lead public opinion. But as more individuals 
j became thinkers, they operated as a check upon 
1 each other, they corrected each other's mistakes, 
i they detected each other's fallacies, and thus 
; mutually purified the fountains of public opin- 
ion. Not only so, the diffusion of education 


tended to improve public opinion in another 
way. It requires knowledge not only to form 
and promulgate, but to judge of opinions. 
All communities have a public opinion, but 
in the enlicfhtened and the unenlifjhtened it 
is a totally dilTerent thing. In one it is based 
upon conviction. In the other upon authority. 
A man must be educated in order to judge 
of the truth or falsehood of any proposition; 
Without education he must take his opinions 
on trust. He cannot have any well grounded 
opinions of his own, and he becomes the 
mere echo of the demagogue who happens to 
have his ear. 

I have now brought you to the point to 
which I wished to conduct you, the conclu- 
sion that literature and education are the 
essential means of enlightening and elevating 
public opinion ; literature, the expression of 
those fundamental and salutary truths which 
are thought out by the wise and the elo- 
quent, and education by which those truths 
are received, comprehended, and adopted by 
the mass of the people. Literature has a 
sacred mission. All wisdom comes from God 
in channels more or less direct. It is an 
emanation of that common inspiration by 


which God hath given to all men under- 
standing. It is the way of God's providence 
to instruct the ignorant by means of the 
wise. As he uses the parent to instruct the 
child, so does he use those minds which he 
has peculiarly endowed, and to which he has 
given uncommon opportunities of improve- 
ment, to instruct other minds of less wisdom 
and experience ; or rather perhaps to think 
for those who are precluded by poverty, or 
toil, or care, from that delightful privilege. 
The mind of the wisest is at first a blank. It 
is addressed and instructed from without and 
from within. Through the senses God pours 
knowledge into it from the external world, 
excites its faculties, calls them into exercise, 
and reveals to it that hidden meaning of 
things which constitutes wisdom, and which 
may be said to emanate from God himself 
All then that is known to the human mind 
may be said to be a revelation. It is more 
or less extensive and perfect according to the 
perfection and cultivation of the mind by 
which it is possessed. God then makes use 
of these superior minds to instruct those of 
less endowment and opportunity. To minds 
destitute of this information this instruction 


is in no mean sense a revelation, as much so, 
as far as they are concerned, as if it were 
supematurally derived. Thus it is with the 
truths of science. They always existed within 
and around us. But the mass of the people 
never did, and never would discover them. 
The solar system has been always the same, 
but the mass of the people entertained the 
crudest and most erroneous ideas concerning 
it. God raised up such men as Newton and 
La Place with minds peculiarly endowed to 
discover and then reveal the laws which rejj- 
uhite the motions of the heavenly bodies. 
Just so with Shakspeare and Locke. They 
were gifted wiih a deeper insight into the 
human mind. They saw what other men did 
not see, and their writings were to the rest 
of mankind a revelation of what there is 
in the intellect and heart of man. So it is 
with every original thinker on every sub- 

Let me not be misunderstood. I mean not 
to infringe on the province of revelation, 
properly so called, nor to advance any thing 
into competition with the divine productions 
of those who spake as they were moved by 
the Holy Ghost. I put the Bible by itself 


distinct from all and above all that the na- 
tural powers of man have produced. I only 
wish to place Literature, the unassisted pro- 
ductions of CTJfted minds within and not 
without the sphere . of Divine Providence, 
which ruleth over all. I mean to say, that 
such minds are raised up by Providence, and 
made the instruments of the most powerful 
effects upon their species, generally for good. 
They are the prophets of the race, and they 
recognise their mission in the impulse they 
feel to utter the word which struggles within 
them for expression. There are indeed among 
them false prophets, as under God's miraculous 
dispensation, men who have mistaken their gift, 
but they do little harm, as the inspiration 
there is in all men teaches them to distinguish 
the true prophet from the false. Thus the 
chaff is winnowed from the wheat, the voice 
of the false prophet dies away, while that of 
the true waxes louder and more commandincr 
as ages roll away. Truth, order, virtue are 
congenial and delightful to the human mind. 
They are welcomed from whatever side they 
may be presented. Their advocates are felt to 
be public benefactors, and they receive the 
homaofe and the reverence of mankind, even 


of those who in tlieir own lives prove false to 
the principles they acknowledge. Falsehood, 
anarchy, and vice are abhorrent to the moral 
and intellectual nature of man, and are 
tolerated only when they offer some bribe 
of temporary pleasure or profit to the individ- 
ual. Now literature is the voice of the 
intellectual and moral nature of man. The 
spiritual part of man, made in the image of 
God, is ever endeavoring to elevate itself 
towards its Divine original. It conceives 
ideas of Truth, Goodness, Perfection and 
Happiness, vastly superior to any thing which 
it has witnessed or achieved. This high 
standard no man realizes in himself, or in his 
own conduct, for the plain reason, that this 
spiritual principle is not the whole of him. 
He has a body, of the earth, earthy, drawing 
in an opposite direction to the spirit, dimming 
its high conceptions, weighing down its lofty 
aspirations, subjugating it to the iron dominion 
of the wants, and polluting it with the 
defilement of the passions. But the soul, the 
spiritual principle is above all these, and really 
despises them, though sometimes subjected to 
their control. The man of gifted mind con- 
ceives the possibility of something better than 


he has realized or seen. The idea burns 
within him, and will not let him rest. As j 
with the prophet of old, the word is as a fire i 
in his bones, and he feels constrained to 
give it utterance. In that high utterance it 
is only the better, the spiritual nature of ^ 
man that speaks ; the passions, the appetites, 
the baser part of man, are silent. Their voice 
is not heard, or they appear only with that 
mark of reprobation set upon them, which 
they always bear in the presence of the 
moral sense. 

High genius has an affinity with virtue, 
and even when borne down, as it sometimes 
is, by the weakness of humanity, it seldom 
desires to propagate the plague. And when 
men of genius sin, God makes holiest use of 
them, though themselves vessels of wrath. 
No man ever preaches more powerfully the 
blessedness of goodness or the deep damna- 
tion of vice, than the depraved man of genius. 
He is among the brotherhood of literary men 
what Jadas was among the Apostles. While 
they are mightily spreading the conquests of 
the truth, there goes with them a voice 
hardly less persuasive from the temple where 
that lost and miserable man flunor down the 



price of innocent blood, and from the field 
where he hung himself in despair. 

The man of genius moreover, speaks in 
the audience of that very inspiration whence 
he draws his own wisdom. He addresses 
himself to that moral and spiritual tribunal, 
which he reverences in his own soul. This 
fact alone bars the expression of all that is 
of a low and corrupting tendency, and makes 
the gifted author the minister of righteous- 
ness and not of sin. The result of this 
is, that the moral standard of even the most 
indifferent literature is higher than the com- 
mon standard of life and practice, and thus 
is continually elevating the ideal in man, 
exalting his conceptions of the true, the 
pure, the just, the honorable, the refined, the 
courteous, by which he is compelled to judge 
his own actions, and after which he is per- 
petually prompted to strive. Do not the 
common mass then, thus receive, as if by 
revelation, higher and nobler ideas than they 
otherwise would have obtained, the image of 
a purer and better life than they could have 
derived from the imperfect state of things 
around them ? 

Such is the high mission of literature and 


literary men. They are the missionaries of 
truth and morality, wisdom and refinement. 
Education is yearly bringing mass after mass 
of society within the sphere of their regen- 
erating influence. It is difficult to overesti- 
mate the habit of reading in its influence 
upon the character. It leads directly to 
thought and reflection ; and when you have 
taught a man to think, you have raised him 
to a higher grade of existence, you have ele- 
vated him from a sensual to an intellectual 
being. *You have given him resources within 
himself, which enable him to unbend and 
recreate his powers without resorting to those 
sensual gratifications which are so full of 
snares to innocence and peace. You have 
put him in a way to remedy most of the evils 
by which he is oppressed, for you have pre- 
pared him to reflect upon and become sen- 
sible of their causes. 

Is it objected that the masses cannot be- 
come readers and thinkers because their time 
is consumed in toil ? I answer, such instances 
as the Massachusetts blacksmith, who, besides 
supporting a family by his sturdy strokes, has 
made himself master of most of the languages 
of the civilized world, altogether refute such 


an objection. Is it said, they cannot procure 
the books ? Their surprising cheapness and 
abundance take away the validity of the ex- 
cuse. Besides, in this very thing lies the 
cure of poverty. Men are poor, in this country 
at ..least, from thoughtlessness, improvidence 
and vice, not from any inexorable necessity 
of their condition. Were all the laboring 
classes like the Massachusetts blacksmith, we 
should see little either of poverty or suffering 
in this most favored land. 

Literature and education, elevating the stand- 
ard of morality, purifying and strengthening 
public opinion, what wonders are they des- 
tined to achieve ! 

To arouse and kindle the intellect of this 
people, to send this reading spirit into all 
classes, nothing is so much needed as a 
national literature. I mean by this, works of 
genius, taste and learning, which shall breathe 
the spirit of our society, and delineate man 
and nature as they appear in this new world. 
The interest that our people can take in 
foreign manners, institutions and modes of 
thought, must be but languid at best ; and if 
nothing else is given them they will not read 
at all. We have materials for a national 


literature. Man is not here a mere fac-simile 
of what he is in the old world. Society is 
not here the reproduction of well known 
forms. The human race is here commencing 
a new career, under circumstances untried. 
Human nature is receiving a new development. 
It will naturally find new modes of thought 
and expression, or in other words have a 
literature of its own. We have indeed our 
Mount Vernon, where virtue and greatness 
rest in glory and in peace. To that spot 
patriotism will make her pilgrimage, to meditate 
and admire, as long as moral excellence shall 
be held in honor amonor men. But we have 
as yet no Avon or Abbotsford, or Newstead, 
we have no spot consecrated by genius, and 
rendered classic by the emanations of immortal 
intellect. All these things are to come. But 
that they will come, I can no more doubt 
than I can my own existence. What form 
the productions of American genius are des- 
tined to take it is impossible to predict. 
Whatever form they do take will be national, 
will reflect our peculiarities, or they never can 
take the place of a popular and universal 

As it is, almost our only literature is our 



newspapers. Of these we have the greatest 
profusion. Their wonderful cheapness, and the 
admirable arrangements of our post office, 
scatter them over the whole country, and bring 
them to the door of every cottage. The in- 
fluence they have in diffusing information, and 
formincr the younir to habits of readinof and 
reflection, is beyond all appreciation. The 
arrival of a fresh sheet wet from the printing 
office, supposed to contain a record of the 
most interesting events taking place in the 
world, is the strongest possible stimulant to 
curiosity, and daily engages thousands in the 
occupation of reading, and puts them in the 
way of intellectual cultivation, who would have 
suffered books of the most instructive char- 
acter to be thrown aside and forgotten. They 
have hitherto however, in my judgment, been 
too confined in their topics. 'Political manoeu- 
vres and terrible accidents are not the only 
things capable of interesting the human mind. 
Able discussions on morals and political econ- 
omy, would be found to attract quite as many 
readers, I believe, as the disgusting details of 
the watch house and the police. 

I come in the last place, to speak of the 
hio^hest influence that is brought to operate 


upon the moral nature of man, to purify, 
refine and exalt it, the inculcation of religious 
truth. Religion is the highest power known 
to man, the most commandins: motive that 
can operate upon his conduct. The Jaws can 
take hold of b^t few of our actions, public 
opinion can only constrain us to govern our 
external conduct, our real characters it leaves 
untouched. The eye of man is on us only at 
intervals. God looketh always at the heart. 
To him there can be no disguise, and every 
attribute of his nature is an omnipotent motive 
to us to maintain the purity of the soul. 

Accordingly Christianity, which is the true 
reliorion, has been the chief instrument of 
modern civilization. The Christian church, 
which has embodied a greater amount of true 
excellence than the race of man has elsewhere 
exhibited, has been the salt of the earth, the 
light of the world. It has been the rallying 
point of good principles, the spring and 
fountain of noble enterprises for the welfare 
of the species. 

The sabbath, considered as an institution 
either of piety or mercy, surpasses any thing 
that the wisdom of man has ever invented. 
Releasing the body from toil, and the soul 


from the slavery of material interests, it con- 
secrates one day in seven to man's moral and 
spiritual well being. It redeems a portion of 
this short life to thought, to reading, to moral 
and spiritual culture. Proclaiming a truce 
to the absorbing cares and sordid passions of 
men, it invites them to hold communion to- 
gether as fellow pilgrims of time, the heirs of 
immortality, the children of the skies. 

The Christian ministry, a spiritual order, — 
and some spiritual order the wants of man 
have demonstrated to be necessary in the 
darkest days and regions of ignorance and 
idolatry as well as the brightest and most en- 
lightened of a divinely authenticated faith, — 
have been a body of men since their first in- 
stitution, of singular moral excellence and 
intellectual cultivation. It was their sacred 
brotherhood, which issuing foTth from Judea 
in the reign of Tiberius, and bearing as their 
banner the consecrated cross, the symbol of 
that embassy of mercy which had been sealed 
on Calvary by the Saviour of the world, 
broke the iron despotism of the Caesars, re- 
deemed from bondafje the millions of Roman 
slaves, and put an end to the bloody spec- 
tacles of the amphitheatre and the circus. 


It was they, who, during the ages of dark- 
ness and ignorance which succeeded the 
irruption of the Barbarians of the North, 
kept watch over the sacred embers of learn- 
ing, religion and civilization, and were the 
first to catch and proclaim the glad sound, 
when the mountain tops began to be illumi- 
nated by a new and brighter intellectual day. 
For ages they governed the world, not by 
usurpation, but by the legitimate title of the 
wisest and the best, and the secular power 
was wrested from their grasp only when its 
natural depositories became sufficiently en- 
lightened to wield it for the benefit of their 

Their influence, withdrawn from secular chan- 
nels, is only the more powerful for being 
confined to spiritual concerns. Their weapons 
are drawn from the armory of God. Bearing 
the shield of faith, defended by the breastplate 
of righteousness, and wielding the sword of 
the spirit, they are still a noble army fighting 
the battles of mankind against their spiritual 
enemies, superstition and ignorance, error and 
sin. Their great commission has not yet run 
out, "Go preach the Gospel to every creature;" 
and still the promise attends their labors : 


" Lo I am with you always, even unto the 
end of the world." They inherit the sacred 
and perennial office of Prophet and Priest. 
They stand up as the interpreters of God, the 
ambassadors of Heaven, the comforters of 
sorrow, the instructers of ignorance, the in- 
tercessors for guilt. In the pulpit, wliich is 
the throne of their power, they speak with 
an authority which is conceded to no other 
mortal, for while they utter the message of 
their Master they feel themselves to be, and 
those who listen recognise them, as the only 
medium through which, as of old, tlie Spirit 
speaks to the churches. 

The office of the ministry yearly becomes 
more and m^re laborious, more and more 
difficult to fill. To be a teacher, the Christian 
minister must keep in advance of his flock, 
a task continually demanding greater effort 
with the development of mind, and the gene- 
ral diffusion of knowledge. And by some it 
is apprehended that the world is shortly to 
pass by the ministry, and leave them and 
their sacred ministrations in the rear of the 
march of improvement. For my own part, I 
apprehend no such result. I should indeed, 
were their instructions based upon any thing 


else than the Bible. The truths therein re- 
vealed, like the stars in the firmament, are 
as far above us as they were above the 
generation to which they were first disclosed. 
Unlike to earthly lights they wax not dim 
with years, but become only the more glo- 
rious the more they are contemplated, and 
the more they are known. As the mechanism 
of the heavens seems more perfect and sub- 
lime the more it is subjected to the scrutiny 
of science, so the deeper our knowledge of 
society and the soul, the more profound will 
be our admiration for the teachings of the 
lowly Nazarene. His character itself is an 
everlasting Gospel to the moral nature of 
man. He that looks on him reads duty in 
more intelligible characters than were ever 
graven upon tables of stone, or written in 
the lifeless pages of a book, and he who sits 
at his feet feels himself strengthened to do, 
to dare, and to suffer, more than by the 
lessons of all the philosophy of man's device. 
Such are the influences, which springing 
from the moral nature of man, react upon 
society, and are ever at work to purify, ele- 
vate and refine it. Legislation, Public Opin- 
ion and Religion ; Laws, Literature and the 


Pulpit, these are the sources to which wc 
are to look for the gradual improvement of 
the human condition. Their power is be- 
coming every year more developed, and at 
present we can see no bounds to the good 
they may effect. They have in this country 
ampler scope than they have ever had before. 
Here the masses think, they have the mate- 
rials of thought. Mind here governs, not 
habit or prescription. Every school house 
that is built, every church that is erected, 
every press that is established does something 
to enthrone Reason, the IMoral Sense, and 
Religion in the government of mankind, and 
to supersede the coarser machinery of armies, 
the police and the prison. 

The course of lectures which has occupied 
us so long, is now brought to a close. I 
hope we may all look back to the excursion 
we have made together, not without pleasing 
recollections. Our general topic has been the 
human condition, that ever interestinor, never 
exhausted subject. We were long detained 
by the sphere and duties of the gentler sex. 
In woman we recognised heaven's last best 
gift. We saw that though she was often 
destined to a thorny path, yet was it her office 


to Strew ours with roses. We concluded that 
though confined to an apparently narrower 
sphere, yet having the control of our earliest 
years, her influence is paramount in deter- 
mining the character and fortunes of mankind. 
We visited for a short time the elevated and 
delightful regions of poetry and song, where 
sit exalted in the reverence of mankind the 
bards of other days, the early prophets of the 
future advancement of the race. In them we 
recognised some of our greatest benefactors, 
the solace of our solitary hours, the ministers 
of our most refined and innocent pleasures, 
the teachers of piety and wisdom. I finally 
conducted you to the more sombre and 
shadowy domains of Ethics and Metaphysical 
Science, man's moral nature and constitution. 
After a rapid survey of these elements of our 
nature, we came to the cheering conclusion, 
that their gradual development secures to 
mankind a perpetual and interminable ad- 
vancement in wisdom, virtue, and happiness. 
If I have been the means to any of you of 
redeeming any hour from vacuity, or less useful 
pursuits, of awakening any emotion of inno- 
cent pleasure, of giving you clearer views of 
truth and duty, I shall feel that I have ga- 



thered some of the richest fruits of a life 
devoted to literary toil. The past winter has 
commenced, I trust, a new era in the annals 
of our city. There is evidently a spirit of 
improvement awakening among us unknown 
before. The zeal with which the different 
courses of lectures have been attended de- 
monstrates that there is wanting neither the 
talent nor the taste to provide and to appre- 
ciate the means of literary culture. 

I now take my leave, wishing to all and 
to each the leisure and the inclination to 
pursue still further those pleasing studies, at [ 
which we have been permitted to take but a 
rapid glance, and expressing the hope that we 
may renew our acquaintance at some future 

Recently jpublished, in 1 vol. 12jno., price 1 dollar, the 



Author of Lectures to Young Men, Lectures on the Sphere and Duties of Woman, Sfc. 
This work comprises the Lectures, Discourses, &c., written by tliis distinguislied 
author; now first collected and revised by the author himsdC 

Brief Extracts from Notices of the Press. 

It is with great pleasure we announce the reception of a volume of this excellent 
author's writings, from the press of Mr. Murphy, of Baltimore. The typograpliical 
execution is admirable, and does great credit to the southern city whence it ema- 
nated. We recommend the work most cordially to our fellow citizens, and shall 
gladly hail any work of equal worth from our southern friends. N. Y. Mirror. 

This is one of the most pleasant and interesting volumes we have taken in hand 
for many a day. The author's subjects, both sacred and secular, are generally 
familiar and interesting to ail ; his style plain but elevated, and his argument and 
critical powers clear and convincing. Sat. Courier. 

We have had this invaluable work upon our table for some days past, and have 
turned over its pages with both pleasure and profit, a rare thing to say sincerely of 
a new work, even in tliis prolific age of '■' literature." The work comprises four 
lectures, an oration, an essay, and several discourses on various topics, wiiich have 
either ensaged the public attention within a few years past, or possess intrinsic 
interest from other causes. Some of them we had the pleasure of hearing delivered ; 
others are entirely new to us, yet the former seem to repossess all the power of the 
latter, again to entertain and instruct. Indeed the entire work is one which will 
command a standard reputation, and engage the attention of every reader. The 
style is exceedingly chaste and classic. The tlieme is closely discussed, and where 
it "has been necessary, the searching analysis of a p<^»werful mind admits the reader 
to such a familiarity with the subject as cannot fail to arrest the mind, and afford en- 
tertainment and instruction. As the work of a distinguished townsman, while com- 
mending it warmly to our readers, we cannot but express our great gratitude that 
Baltimore has made so worthy an addition to the literature of our country.- £aZ^ Sun. 

This worthy and accomplished author has, through a life yet short, and which 
we trust is destined to last for many years to come, devoied much of his time to 
arousing a spirit of inquiry in the public mind on all useful subjecL<, and to the not 
less laudable object of enlarging the sphere of literary and classic taste in the com- 
munity of which he is a shining member. The work before us contains much 
soimd and practical teaching, embracing in its scope some wholesome views of 
literature, religion and politics. U. S. Cuih. Mag. 

It must be a great relief to newspaper critics, when a work like the one men- 
tioned at the head of this article, enables them to lend the benefit of their sanction 
witliout compromising their judgments — and to praise freely without the fear of 
being considered insincere. Mr. Burnap is too well known in this community, 
through his published compositions, as a vigorous and polished writer — a deep and 
clear thinker — to need any praise that we could bestow ; or to be elevated in public 
estimation by any expression of the pleasure we have received from the perusal of 
his " Miscellaneous Writings." In his own language — " I'he subjects discussed are 
generally such as do not depend for their importance on time or place. Though 
called forth by special occasions, they apply with nearly the same force to all limes 
and all places." Baltimore Clipper. 

Of the moral and literary character of the work, no one acquainted with the repu- 
tation of the author need to be told that it is in the highest style of excellence, and 
an honor to the literature of our city. Odd Fellow's Mirror. 

The book is a credit" to both its accomplished author and skilful printer, and an 
ornament to our national literature. L.ike the generality of Mr. Burnap's writings, 
this Miscellany is profound in its thought, profuse in its facts, lucid in its style, and 
useful in its purpose. It is a book for the philosopher, the Christian, the statesman, 
the merchant, the mechanic, the farmer : no one is likely to read it without in- 
terest and advantage. Metfiodist Protestant. 

The subjects discussed are practical and of permanent interest, applying with but 
little varying force to all times and all places ; and the ability witli which they are 
treated, the classic beautjs manly energy, and transparent perspicuity of the diction, 
connected with their intrinsic practiced utility, cannot fail to secure to the work a 
ready sale and an extensive perusal. Lutheran Observer* 



The duties of womm, ami especially of American females, are ably defined, and 
correctly ammaihiirled on. We take pleasure in recoujineiuiing it as a work thai 
all parents should place in the hands of their daughters, and tlie husband in that of 
liis wife. — N. Y. Lady^s Companion. 

We commend the book to the attention of every female, whether young or old, 
and whatever station she may till. They will find a true fr> end in the author, and 
cannot fail to draw improvfiuenr from his admonitions. — Ho'-ton Courier. 

The subject itself is imptrtant and inviting;. The style in which it is treated, is 
easy and graceful, the tone of thoui:;ht, energetic, and the expression ot the senti- 
ments pointed, and (requently striking by their biillianoy. These lectvjres are emi- 
nently deserving more than praise — patronage. — NutionrA lulelli^cncer. 

The style is sufficiently ornate, without being ambitious — the sentiments pure anil 
elevated. VVe vvonld recommend the ladies to purchase, for, unlike the fashiona- 
ble publications of the day, this woik instructs while it amuses.-iV. O. Cretcent City. 

It is d<>voted to a aeries of admirable lectures on the " ."Sphere and Duties i>f 
Woman," and other subjects, which were some time since delivered in naliininre, 
by the Rev. George W. Uurnap. The volume is niie that we commend clieerfnily 
and heartily. It mculcates admirable lessons at once agreeabW; and (Iflit'littul. 

Pcnn. Cjurier vV luqauer. 

We have had occasion to notice the practical excellence of Mr. lUirnap's lec- 
tures, in calling attention to those that were addressed to the y.iuMi; men, and we 
now invite attenlii>a to a series ou other subjects, no lirss interesting — no less at}- 
n»ifal>ly written. The lecture which &|)eaks f>n tlu3 condition of American womrn, 
will Ixi read wSth interest. There is one portion of the volume which may be 
OQlleii reiiKKkable — it is that " on the moral con.-ititulion of man." — U. S. Gazette. 

A very neat volume has recently been published in Baitini ire, entitled " Lt(v 
tures on the :?phere and Duties of Woman, and other subjects, — by George W. 
Burnap, of Baltimore." The author presents his views, which are of a pmctieal 
character tlironiihoiit, in plain and Ibrcible language — and we could wish that his 
book might have a large circulation. It contains many remarks and 6Ui;:.'esiioiis 
wSiich would, doubtb>ss, |>rove prolitable to our Iriends. — lio^ton Mercan. .J mrnal. 

It is unnecessary lor us now to enlarge on the literary mrrii- of this geniltinan. 
to refer to the estimate put on his Dinner ctiurse of lectures, both in Fn^l uid and 
America, or to speak of the literary creiiit tieriveil to italtimore from his labors as 
an author. We have already spoken of these tliintis, anil i:iveii copious srxtraets 
from the lectures themselves. In addition to tliis course, we ho;>o, — a hope which 
we expressed somi- weeks since, and now repeat — to see a seciMid eilition of the 
former course, '• the lectures to youni; men.'* This is necessarj' to put a complete 
set into the liamls of every admirur of them, and we trust tlie suggestion will not 
be lost. — Baltimore Sun. 

The subjects selcrt.-d by the lecturer wore not only calculated to excite the in- 
terest of his hearers, lint eminently fitted to instruct and benefit society. And .Mr. 
ISurnap has b.;en sueeessfiil in accoinplisliing both. He has attained a desirable 

fiopiilarity among the elite, while at the same time he is listened to and read by the 
nimbler cla>ses that are in quest of useful knowledge. His lectures or essays all 
maintain a higli moral and intellectual lrnit>, breathe n si>iril of pure pariittisin, and 
inculcate many valuable philosophic b'ssons. IVor is he wantint; in practical 
uitlily. If he has l.iinue'l etreclively to impress u(M>n the minds of his hearers the 
prop^-r 7noral reanliti »ns to be observed, he has at the same time dom; ju-tice to 
the domestic •' duties." The volume will doubtless have a great run. His pub- 
lished lectures to young men some time since had a tremendous sale. His style is 
very plain and p!ea>ing. — Saturday TTnter. 

The author reepntly [niblished a seiios of leetiKes which he delivered before the 
young men of f'.aliini'ire, which were remarkable for the intelligent s|»irit which 
they displayed, atid the sound moral instructions which they conveyed. The 
present volume is written in the same spirit, and is a worthy otlV-ring to those to 
whom it is dedicated — the la(ties. It deserves to be extensively read by them, for 
it is calculated to improve bi»th mind and heart. The book is published in a hand- 
some style, and b^'autifully printed. — Pfiitadelihia I^dzer. 

The work should be in the hands of every young lady who is desirous of mental 
and moral improvement. We are really srrafified that eueh a book shtirld have 
issued from a Baltimore press. — Mcth. Prol»:slant. 


IVill be published, early in 1848, uniform rcith the Sphere and Duties of JFoman, 
Third eniargtd aiul impiovcd ediiion, 1 vol. 12mo. 75 cents. 




.Author of Lectures on the Sphere and Duties of Jf'oman, 4'c. ^'c. 4"c« 

In announcing a third edition of these popular lectures, it is deemed unnecessary 
to say any thing in the way of commendation ; tlie high estimation in which Mr. 
Burnap's writings are held in this country, and in Europe, are Umj hest evidence 
of their general utility. These lectures, having passed through two large editions 
in England, have taken rank as '•' Standard .American Literature,'' and are, accord- 
ing to the statements of the English press, destined to become a household book. 
For such as may not be acquainted witli their general character, we select a few 
Brief extracts from notices of the first editioiis. 

It is unnecessary for us now to enlarge on the literary merits of this gentleman, 
to refer to the estimate put on his former course of lectures, both in England and 
America, or to speak of the literary credit derived to Baltimore from his labors as 
an author. We have already spoken of these things, ajid given copious extracts 
from the lectures themselves. In addition to tliis course, we hope,— a hope which 
we expressed some weeks since, and now repeat — to see a second edition of tlie 
former course, '• the lectures to young men." 7"his is necessary, to put a complete 
set into the hands of every admirer of them, and we trust the suggestion will not 
be lost. Baltimore Sun. 

" Great books are great evils." Mr. Bnrnap has acted up to this aphorism, and 
given to the public another admirable little book, brim full of practical utility. 
E%-ery young man throughout tlie land, who has an education to learn, a profession 
to follow, or a character to form, may take up this volume with pleasure, and lay 
it down with prc»fit. It contains many practical lessons, much good advice, and 
many sound doctrines; — all forcibly put, alTectionately urged, and eloquently 
cugued. Southcrii Lit. Messenger. 

Notice of second edition. Mr. Burnap has rendered a valuable service to his 
country-, by es[ilainiiig to her young men, in terms so clear and forcible, their 
capacities and moral resources. — their means of usefulness, and their powers of 
good. He has drawn a chart for the young, and laid down with great accuracy the 
quicksands and shoals which beset the path of youth. No young man who heeds at 
all tlie dictate? of truth, or the kssons of experience, can read this Look and fail to 
profit by tlie perusal. Parents and guardians should urse it on the attention of 
tlieir sons and wards. Southern Lit. Mtssenger. 

We can recommend no work to youn? men more strongly for their perusal in 
their leisure hours, which combines interest with usefulness.'tlian the work before 
us. N. Y. Times 4- Star. 

These lectures, in a plain, common sense manner, point out to the young man 
the sure and only safe path to a prosperous and happy life, while tliey give witli 
graphic truth, tlie inevitable ruin and desolation tlia't follows the opposite one. 
We have read the work with a great deal of interest, and cheerfully recommend 
every young man to purchase a copy, and peruse it seriously and thoughtfully. 

Boston Pilot. 

As the title implies, this work particularly addresses itself to young men just 
entering on tlie stage of life, to whom the author, in the form of lectures, offers 
some excellent advice,'and in a way calculated to make a deep impression. We 
recommend it to their perusal with much confidence. N. Y. Cour. Sf Inquirer. 

It is a book that ever>- young man ought to read. N. Y. Sunday Mercury. 

The subjects selected by the lecturer were not only calculated to excite the in- 
terest of his hearers, but eminently fitted to instruct and benefit society. His lec- 
tures or essays all maintain a high moral and intellectual tone, breathe a spirit of 
piue patriotism, and inculcate many valuable philosophic lessons.— Serf. Visiter^ 



No. 178 Market street, Baltimore. 

K E R N E Y ' S 


Fourth stereotype edition, carcrully revised, eorrcctcil r.nd iiiii)iovi'd h\ tlie author, 
] I'ol. r2mo. 400 pages, full hoi nil sheep, only lb ds. 


With Questions, adapted to 'the use of Schools and Anidcmies ; also, ati 
Appendix, coniiimiig the Ihclai aiion of IndrptmUna, the. Cnnsiitulion 
of the. United Statea, a Bioi^raphical Sketch of Emiiunt Personages, 
with a Chronological Table of Remarkable I-X'tni.'K JJiacovtries, Improve- 
ments, etc., from thf Creation to the year 1S40. liy INI. .) . Kernev. 
Tlic liberal jiafrnnaL"' txlend«'»l to tliis wnik, and the in'-icasjns denmnds for it, 
liave called lor a t'i>urlli ((iilion much soeiur than was originally anlicipated. This 
i:?, inriecd, one of tin; lic-i pruols o( its merit. To thoM* alr-ady aciiuainled with 
tiie work, tlie publislur would meiely .state, that it ha.> hctn rarcfnlly revised liy 
Uie autlior, and .«;tercotyiKMl, with now type, of a bcaulitiil and l)old face. The 
Ciupslion^ have been arranj;td ai ilie boitom of each pa-ic, and various other im- 
provement* liave been made in tiiis edition, which, it is bflicvcd, will add much 
to the value of the work, and render it still more convenient and useful. Besides 
being minutely correct in all its details, and posfsessiufj an easy, eli.-vated and clas- 
sical style, this work has other merits, that should recommend it to uuiveisal pa- 
tronase. In point of arratmement, and in its penc-ral matter of contents, it is 
decidedly superior to any work of tlie kind ; but that which should commend it to 
universal paironase, is the studied care with which the author has treated all sub- 
jects relating to relifrion. In this respect the Compenihum is one of the very lew 
works of its nature which may be read without oflending, in the remotest degree, 
Uie relipious sensibility of the reader. 

Neither pains nor ex|iense have been spared to make the work perfect in every 
lespect, and to render it still more accessible to all classes, the price has been 
reduced to 75 cents per copy. 

The publisher has the pleasure to announce that this work has been mtroilnce*i 
into the Public Schools in the cities of frashim^ton and IhjlHmorc, and into sev(;ral 
of the most respectable CoUe«e:i and ^^cudcmics in Maryland and the Southern and 
H'^esiern States ; in addition to which, he begs leave to refer to the lollowing recouj- 
mcndations, and brief extracts from notices. 

The Compendium of History, by M. J. Kerney, has been in my possession seve- 
ral months, and, alter a careful readius, I believe it to be a very useful book in the 
department of study to which it beloiiL's. I take pleasure in recommending it to 
teachers. J. IS'.M'Jii.ton, Chairman Central High Scl^ool of Baltimore, 

August 3, 1846. 
To Mr. John IMrRPHY, Baltimore, ^tig^ut 'JO, 1846. 

Dear Sir : — At a late meelins of the Book Committee of the Baltimore Public 
Schools, it was resolved, that the " Compendium of History," by M. J. Kerney, be 
introduced into the Schools. Respectfully, J. N. M'JiLToit. 

Washinotov CiTT, Sept. 1, 1847. 
Dear Sir : — I have carefully examined " Kerney''s Compendium of Historx/,^' and 
" Kervey''s ,.1l,rid orient of Murray's English Orammar.^^ I have the pleasure to in- 
form you that they have both been iniroduced into the Public Schools in our city. 
I take great pleasure in recommending^ them to the attention of Teachers. 

J. F. Callan, Trustee Public School^. 
To Mr. J. McRPHY, PullishcT) Baltimore. 


Noticea of Kerney^s Compendium of His'oiii. 

BaLtimoke, O'Jo^fr 8. 1845. 

"Kerney's Compendium of History*" condense? niucli mattir in a sin-xll cojnpass ; 
w>rf, a* a &cli(Mil book, is calculated to interest and p.ease iliri >iud.-nt ; while it 
makes him ma-ttr of the princi()al and most important facts i)i\-iiuiriit itnd Modem 
History To speak of it5 merits comparatively, 1 think it equal, if not superior, lo 
any of its kind within my knowledge. Jt-s. H. Ci-ark, A. M. 

Hanng carefully perused the " Compendium of Ancient and Modern History,^' by 
M. J. Kerney, I feel no hesitation in stating it to be, in my opinion, one of the best 
arranged works for the use of schools and academies tl:at I have seen. The biog- 
raoliiral skt-tch of eminent men I consider judiciously arranged in a concise man- 
ner, whi<rii can be-ea»ily comprehended by the pupil. James Shaxley, 

Frincipai of a Classical and Mathematical School, 19 Conwuy street, Bait, 


We are not among tl)ose who think that either history or grammar can be tho- 
roughly taught by abridgments; but since, in defiance of all that has been said 
against them, they still hold their place in all primary schools, it bpcomes a matter 
of serious importance to use a right judgment in the selection of them. Our leisure 
has not served us to enter into a ver)' critical examination of Mr. Kerney "s volume ; 
but we have looked tiirough it with some atlentioi;. and must coixfess that we 
have been favorably impressed with its merits. In the History, more especially, 
where it is iuipos^ible to avoid the relation of facts touching various religious 
creeds, the compiler seems to have scrupulou.-ly refrained from any remark that 
eould arouse sectanan prejudice — a fault in which too many of those who have 
given their labors t/ the compilation of school histories have been prone to in- 
dulge. With regard to the " Questions" appended to each page of the volume, 
we cannot help thinking tliat they are better adapted to save labor to the teacher 
than to give facilities to the pupil ; they are common, however, to all school-books, 
and we should probably argue in vain against their utility. — National InteUigeucer, 

A ver>' vafuable school book. — Saiirday Courier. 

An excellent work for the instruction of youth, and from the early issue of a sec- 
ond edition, it appears to have met with success. As the author professes, it is 
rather a compilation of the facts and remarkable incidents of Universal History 
arranged in a connected and en'eriaining form, tlian any efJort at carefully composed 
narration. His style is well adapted to that end, being clear and comprehensive; 
and this, together with his accuracy in dates, forms the great merit of the work. 
In the classification of his subject, he has adopted the plan of treating of the history 
of each nation separately, unconnected with that of others, in preference to the 
system of giving a general view of contemporaneous events. To the new beginner, 
what is lost in general information is compensated by the minute and thorough 
knowledge acquired of the subject under study. As an elementar>' treatise, there- 
fore, this work svill, we should suppose, be, and deservedly so, a favorite in cur 
schools. The appendix of biographical notices of prominent individuals is an ori- 
ginal and desirable addition to the book. — Bait. Patriot. 

We noticed some months ago the first edition of this work, and are much gratified 
to find, from the speedy appearance of the second, that our anticipations of its com- 
plete success were not vain. TM work has been, we feel authorised to say, much 
improved, and we not only clieerfuUy, but earnestly recommend it to the favorable 
notice of tutors and directors of schools and academies. — St. Louis News Letter. 

An excellent work for the instruction of youth, and from the early issue of a 
second edition, it appears to have met with success. As an elementarj' treatise, 
this work will, we should suppose, be, and deservedly so, a favorite in our schools. 
The appendix of biographical notices of prominent individuals is an original and 
desirable addition to the book. — Lutheran Observer. 

It fills a place long vacant in our school books. Its style is good, plciin and easy ; 
h is well condensed, and the narrative correct and justly sustained. — Fred. Exam. 

This is an exceedingly useful publication, as being introductory to the more gen- 
eral examination of history, biography, &c. — Clipper. 

Mr. Kerney has done good service to the cause of education and general intelli- 
gence in preparing this valuable work. To the man of small leisure, no publication 
extant, is so well adapted. He will find here, in a condensed form, comprehensive 
glimpses of the most prominent events that have transpiri^d from ages long gone 
bv, to the present time. The author seems to have be; n verv happy in the aurange- 


Kerney^s Murray^s Grammar* 

ment of events, presenting them in an unbroken series, and bringing them down 
to our own limes. The work is, as far as a cursory view enables us to judge, free 
from a sectarian or partial bias. I'd add value to the " Compendium," the author 
has judiciously caused to be comprised within its contents, the Constitution of the 
United States and the Declaration of Independence. It also contains a Chronologi- 
cal table of events, from the creation to the year li340. — Odd Fellows Mirror. 

We confess ourselves well pleased with tliis volume, and believe it is destined to 
find favor in the sphere for which tlie author has designed it. Its style is didactic and 
terse, and while agreeable to the cultivated intellect, is adapted to the humblest 
comprehension. The title of the book is a fair exponent of its contents, all the 
leading facts of ancient and modern history being briefly presented to the reader. 
The author, as lie promises in his preface, is very sparing in his own connnents, 
though we could wish, judging Irom the few specimens he has given us, that he 
had dealt them out a little more liberally. There is one characteristic of tl>e work 
which pleases us above all others, and that is the studied care with vvliich the author 
avoids nil allusions and comments that might be in tlie slightest degree wounding to 
the religious sensibilities of members of any creed. This is a great desideratum in 
books designed for schools, as the evil of sectarianism, so manifest in most of our 
elementary class books, has been long and loudly complained of. Nothing can be 
more improper in schools where children of all denominations are mixed up than 
for tutors to use works of a sectarian character, or what is worse, text books which 
are made up of calumnies and palpaple falsehoods, insulting to the religious feelings 
i)t' a portion of their pupils. \Ve cannot but hope that this work will be acceptable 
to our citizens, because of its fitness for the objects for which the author designed 
it, because of its impartial chaittcter, and because it is the produciion of a worthy 
and intelligent member of our own community. — U S. C. Mcgacine. 

This verv useful work was compiled for the use of schools and academies, and 
fully meets the wants it was intended to supply ; we therefore shall not only adopt 
it in Uie schools under our own care, but recommend it as much as we can to 
others. — PUUhurs, dttholic. 

It is a work containing much useful information, and, as a school book, and 
for general historical reference, it will be found invaluable. — liaU. American. 

A cursory examination of iliis volume has led us to form a very favorable opinion 
of its merits as a >chool book. We think that those engaged in the instruction of 
youth will find it a valuable assistant in the department uf history Cath. Herald. 


Fifth improved stereotype edition, revised by the author, one volume 18mo. 
reduced to fifteen cents. 


With Questions, adapiod to the use ofSc/iOois and Academies ; also, an 

Appendix contairung Rttks and Obserrations for IVriting with Perspi' 

cuity and Accuracy. By M. J. Kerney, Author of " Compendium of 

Ancient and Modern History." 

This is decidedly the best Abridgment of the old Standard of Murray, now BfTfore 
the public. It eml>races, in a narrow compass, all that is important or essential in 
the original work, besides several other useful additions not found in these works. 
Its arrangement is well calculated to advance the pupil in the acquisition of gram- 
matical knowledge. It has Exercises prefixed to each Chapter and Section 
throughout the work ; also, to the Rules and Notes of Syntiix, containing false 
Syntax. It embraces the entire Prosody, the Rules for Punctuation, and Exercises 
under them; the Rules for S|telling, anil Exercises containing false Orthography; 
also. Questions at the bottom of each page, for the convenience both of teachers 
and pupils. This work ha.<» also been introduced into the Public Schools in the 
cUiea of TVa^hinzfon and Baltimore, and into several of the most respectable Col- 
eges and Academies in .Maryland, and the Southern and Western States. Tht 
Tubiisher respectlully refers to ilie notices on tlie following page. 


Notices of Kemeyh Murray's Grammar. 


Mr. Kemev's Abridgment of it is just what it professes to be, and not a new su- 
perstructure upon an old foundation. Those who xhink Murray "s tlie best of all 
grammars, therefore, will not hesitate much to think tliis the best of all abridg- 
ments. — Xat. Intelligencer. 

This abbreviation of the large and unwieldy volume of the Patriarch of Gram- 
marians, has been effected without the omission of any important matter, and 13 
presented to the public in a neat and convenient form. It also must find favor in 
schools. — BuU. Patriot. 

We most cheerfully recommend this Grammar to the attention of the directors of 
schools. — Si. Louis Sews Letter. 

This grammar is an excellent abridgment of old Murray, Jong a favorite in the 
schools. — Fred. Examiner. 

On a cursor}- examination of this volume, it appears to be well adapted to the 
purposes for which it was designed, and worthy to be extensively introduced into 
schools and academies. — Baltimore Clipper. 

We are very much pleased with this abridgment, and think the improvements 
Mr. Kerney has made, admirably calculated to accelerate tlie progress of the learner, 
and to lessen the labor of tlie teacher. We have a reverence lor Murray's Gram- 
mar, which all the systems that have from time to time appeared, purporting to be 
improvements, have not been able to remove. We confess frankly, that we have 
seen notliiiig which so fully meets our views, as the good old foujitain from which, 
whatever ideas we possess of the correct method ot speaking and writing our 
mother tongue, were derived. The chief advantage which this claims over former 
editicms of >lurray"s abridgment, is that Mr. Kerney has, by a system of abbrevia- 
tion, combhied all the facilities which the large edition of Murray hitherto pre- 
sented : and obviated the want of clearness and adaptation to dull capacities — by 
reason of its conciseness — of the former " Abridgment." The Grammar and Exer- 
cise, in llie work before us, is combined, and to each chapter an exercise is adapted 
illustrative of the principle attempted to be made apparent. We feel great pleasure 
in commendin2 the work to the favorable notice and patronage of teachers of 
youth. — Odd Fellous' A'irror. 

We take particular pleasure in recommending this abridgment to the public. 
The notes and observations taken from the original are copious and well selected. 
In point of arrangement, it is superior to any other abridgment of Murray-s Gran>- 
niar. Jt has exercises prefixed to each chapter and section throughout tlie work, 
also to the rules and notes of syntax. Thus, by combining the grammar and exer- 
cise, a very desirable improvement has been effected ; the pupil, at ever}' step of 
liis progress, has a practical illustration of the principles inculcated. The ques- 
ti ns at the bottom of each page, and at the et.d of each exercise, will give an 
increased Aalue to the work, and will be found convenient to the teacher, and use- 
ful tor the pupil. By their arrangement, and that of the exercises, much of that 
dr\Tiess which scholars usually experience, whil-^ committing to memory the rulea 
and notes of grammar, will be removed ; the study will become pleasing and inte- 
resting. Besides embracing in a narrow compass all that is important or essential 
in the original grammar and exercise, this abridgment contains in its appendix 
several additional matters which will be found highly inteiestiiig and useful to the 
learner; such as the Art of Reasoning, Oratory, Elliptical Phrases, Popular Latin 
Phrases, willi a literal English Translation. — TJ. S. C. Magazine. 

This popular little work seems to contend for the palm of usefulness with Mr. 
Chandler's grammar, which we noticed a few months ago. The Presentation 
Brothers, who conduct St. Paul's School in this city, and who are good practical 
judges, as well as excellent teachers, prefer this abridgment, especially for Uie 
junior classes. — Pilliburz Catliolic. 

This little work appears to be exceedingly well suited to the use of the scholar 
who is about entering upon the study of the English language. It will, no doubt, 
prove an aid to the tutor, and, by its simplicity and explanatory style, be of great 
advantage to the pupil. — Bait. American. 

The general arrangement of Murray's Grammar is admitted to be the best extant. 
Mr. Kerney has presented all that is' truly valuable in any abridgment of Murray's 
tisai we have seen, and has made several valuable suggestions to instructors. The 
bij(<k cannot fail to meet with success among intelligent teachers. Methodist Prot. 


Illustrated with several fine Engravings. 1 vol. 12mo. Cloih, gilt edges,..! 50 

This work is very handsomely goiton up in the pubhsher's usual style of precision 
and elegance. The frontisjjiece is a neat engraved likeness of the " iVIilford 
Bard," wliile several other embellishments are tbund in the body of the work. 
The contents are exceedingly interesting, and of a high order in a literary point of 
view. We have read several of the articles both in prose and poetry, and found 
them always instructive, and sometimes delightful and thrilling. This publication, 
apart from its superior mechanical execution and intrinsic merits, has a peculiar 
claim upon the public in view of the interesting position of its author, and we 
should therefore be glad to hear of its meeting with prompt and general patronage. 

Lut. Observer. 

Who that has ever read the touching essay of the author on the sufferings of our 
Saviour, or any of his most humorous poems, exhibiting at once the elasticity and 
versatility of his mind and talents, would be without t^e wliole of such a writer's 
productions, when oftered at so cheap a rate. N. O. Crescent. 

" The pcxttical and prose writings of John Lofland, M. D., the Milford Bard, con- 
tainiriL' moral, sentimental, humorous and patriotic poems and essays." Who has 
not heard of tiie Milford Bard, and his erratic course, like a comet, in this volume 
he appears at rest, in his culminations, and with concentrated light, difiuses his 
rays. 'J'he volume is a i)rctty one, will be read with pleasure, and on the whole 
will make a veiy pretty Christmas present. Bait. Clijiper. 


3:2mo. lancy paper, 13 

This is the title of a very neatly executed small work, peculiarly adapted for the 
perusal of youth. It is an addiess delivered to the boys of the public schools, by 
the Rev. J. N. M'Jilton, A. M., Chairman Central Higk School of Ballimore, and 
it is worthy of general circulation ; as such we cheerfully reconuuend it. The aim 
of the author in preparing this address was its usefulness, and we doubt not every 
boy into whose hands it may tall will be improved by its perusal. In the language 
of the writer, " tiie model which is here presented in the illustrious WashingtOiH 
will be found to contain what is excellent and valuable in character," and worthy 
the emulation of our youth. JV^. V. Truth Teller. 

LOVE AND MATRIMONY. A Letter to a Bktrothed Sister. By a 

Lady of Bultimore. 3Qmo. fancy paper, gilt edges, .25 

Altiioiigii this is a little work, it contains much sensible advice, conveyed in 
brief, but strong language; and being from a sister to a sister, it is written in the 
style ot the purest affection. We may add, that the typographical execution is 
very beaiitit'ui, the |)ubiisher having spared no pains in tlie getting of it up. It is 
very suitable for a present. Lut. Observer. 

BIBLE (iCADRUPEDS. The Natural History of the Animals mentioned 
IN Sf;Rii'TrRE. Illustrated with 16 splendid Engravings. A new and beautiful 

edition. 16mo. embossed cloth, 75 

The same. Gill edges, 1 00 

This little work is got up in a style of neatness which, exclusive of its merits, 
cannot fail to reconmieiid it to the notice of families. It is a book which ought to 
be put into the hands of tlie rising generation — containing, as it does, imich useful 
information. N. Y. Truth Teller. 

POPE'S ESSAY ON MAN. 32mo. cloth, 13 

The first Lord Baltimore, by Hon. J. P. Kennedy, before the Maryland 
Historical Society. 8vo. fancy paper, , 25 

MEMOIR OF MAJOR S \MUEL RINGGOLD, U. S. A. Read before the Mary- 
land Historical Society, April, 1847, by James Wynne, M. I), bvo paper,.. 13 

SILAI{.\RIO CASTELLANO, para el Uso de Los Ninos, bajo, un Nuevo Plan, 
L'til y Agradable ; reuniendo la Ensenanza de las Letras, Urbanidad, Moral, y 
Religion, 25 

SILABARIO CASTELLANO, para el Uso de Las Ninas, bajo, un Nuevo Plan, 
Util y Agradable ; reuniendo la Ensenanza, de las Letras, Urbanidad, Moral, y 
Religion, , 35 


Just pttblished, Ji Xeic Edition, in a beautiful \6rno. volume of aboxit 800 pages, iUua- 
traied uith splendid Steel Engravings, 4'c. 



For the use of the Sisters of Charity iv the United States of 

America, with the approbation of the Superiors. 

Second edition. Revised, Enlarged, and adapted to general use 

The first edition of this prayer book, which was compiled and published for 
the especial use of tlie Sister's of Chap.ity of St. Joskfh, being out of print, 
the undersisned has the pleasure to announce that he has made an arrangement 
with the Superior for the copy-right, and has issued a second edition of the work 
witli such alterations and additions as adapts it to general use, and to all occasions 
of public and private devotion. The book, in its original form, was very com- 
prehensive, embracing, besides the ordinary exercises of piety, a vast amount of 
useful instruction on various subjects ; but "the prayers and instructions which are 
superadded, with the careful revision that has been bestowed upon the work, ren- 
der it the most complete and most accurate manual of Catholic piety that has ever 
been issued from the press in this country. 

This work is comprised in an 18mo. volume of about 800 pages, illustrated with 
several fine Steel Engravings, an Illuminated Title, Presentation Plate. &c. It 
is printed from netr type, on fine paper, and is sold at the following very low prices, 
viz. — neatly bound iii Rlack Roan, at -S 1-00 per copy ; in Roan, gilt edges, $1.50 ; 
in Arabesque, at .$2.00; in Turkey Morocco, sup. extra, witli Illuminated Title, 
&c., $2. .50; Extra fine copies in Turkey sup. extra Flexible B^cks, &.c.,$3per 
copy. A few copies will be done up in Superb Velvet Bindings, with Cases, K.C., 
at prices varj-ing from $ 8 to $• 10 per copy. 

(t(^ Clergymen a^d Superiors of Religious Institutions, will be supplied with all th« 
copies they may obtain subscribers for, at the usual discount. 

Just published, 1 vol. 18mo. cloth, gilt, 50 cts.; cloth, sup. ex. gilt edges, 75 cts, 


This little work, from the pen of the illustrious Fenelon, ^rcAiis/wp o/ Cambray, 
is now, for the first time, presented to the American public. Like all the other 
productions of that distinguished Prelate, his " Edtcation of a Daughter," ad- 
dressed to Christian parents, on the vital subject of the education of youth, has been 
universally admired for the excellence and wisdom of its instructions, the beauty 
of its maxims, and the intrinsic worth of its counsels. The name of Fenelon will, 
no doubt, be a sufficient recommendation to introduce it to the favorable notice of 
all who feel an interest in the virtue and happiness of the youthful and innocent 
portion of the communit}'. To assist in promoting that happiness, and preserving 
that innocence and \irtue, in the hearts of children, is the principal motive of the 
present publication, and hence it is confidently hoped that parents and Teachers 
will give it a favorable reception. 

Just published, in a beautiful 24mo. volume, trithfine illustrations, 





Translated from the Italian, by Charles Constantine Pise, D. D. 

These highly instructive Letters abotmd in wise and practical counsels. They 
have been translated in Dr. Pise's usual graceful and happy stjle. Tliey are 
printed and bound in a style of elegance and neatness commensurate with their 


PAULINE SEWARD, a Talb of Real Life. By John D. Bryant, Esq. 

2 volumes, l-2iHO. embossed clotli, gilt, 1 50 

The same. Embossed clotli, gilt edges, 9 00 

This work unites in an eminent degree pleasing incidents with useful instruc- 
tion. Tlirougli a story W(^ll conceived and ably sustained, the author has infused 
the teachings of the Catholic church in a manner eminently calculated to correct 
the errors and prfjudices ivitli which her adversaries would obscure her practices 
and doctrines. The author of this work is a convert to Catholicity ; and knowing, 
from his past cxperinnce and associations, what arc the principal difficulties with 
Protestants in relation to our religion, he has sought to a[)ply the instructive por- 
tions of his work to their explanation and removal. In this he has not been less 
happy than in the story itself. The work has only to be read to be admired — and 
no Catholic should be without a copy. 

No branch of Catholic literature has been so little attended to as that of which 
the present work is destined to form one of the hrijihlest gems. It is written in the 
most chaste and beautiful style. The interest thrown around the tale is sinsularly 
happy and intense. Cath. Her. 

If not the brightest gem in the Catholic literature of this country, the story 
of Pauline Seward is certainly unsurpassed by any effort of the kind heretofore 
made on this side of the Atlantic. U. S. C. Mn^. 

FATHER OSWALD. A Gencune Catholic Stort. ^ new and improved edition. 
18mo. fancy paper, 38 

The same. Cloth, gilt, .50 

" " Cloth, ex. gill edges, 75 

This work is intended to be a reAitation of Father Clement; and as the author 
has been signally successful in accomplishing his design, the circulation of this 
work is well worthy the zeal (tf those who have at heart the honor and propaga- 
lion of the true faith. The work is well worthy the commendations which the 
press has every where bestowed upon it; and we do not hesitate to welcome it 
among the productions which are to be the most popular and inllueniial means of 
removing anti-Calliolic prejudice, and leading the Protestant mind to the discovery 
and acknowledizment of truth. The present edition has been carefully revised, 
corrected and improved throughout. 


RELIGION. l-2mo. lull bound, cloth, with a neat and appropriate stamp, ..75 

This standard work is well Known in the Catholic world, as combining more of 

wit, style, various and happy illustraiion, interest of narrative, atul withal, a greater 

store of learning than most controversial works of the same class. 

THE STUDENT OF BLENHEIM FOREST, or the Trials or a Convert. 

By Mrs. Anna II. Dorsey. 3-imo. cloth, 50 

Thb same. Gilt edges, .,....,, 63 

LORENZO, OR THE EMPIRE OF RELIGION. By a Scotch Non-Conformist. 

Translated from the French. 3-imG. plain cloth, 25 

The samk. Gilt edges, 38 

PRASCOVIA, OR FILIAL PIETY. Translated from the French. 32mo. cloth, 
gilt edges, '.i8 

THE CHAPEL OF THE FOREST, Christmas Eve and other Tales. 
Translated from Ihe French. 3"3mo. cloth, gilt edges, » 38 

PERE jean, or the JESUIT MISSIONARY, A Tale of the North 
American Indians. By J. McSherrt, Esq. 32mo. doth, giil edges, 38 






^£f- I(^